Holding Hands
by fucking salad
Summary: The story of Lea & Dianna, Dianna & Lea. Chocolate anchors and hazel expanses lock for the first time outside Ryan Murphy's office and right in that moment, begins the rest of their lives.
1. Michele, ma belle

**HOLDING HANDS**

**First Chapter!**

**Note from the author: This is an Achele fanfiction. I'm trying to write it following the actual events that took place in Lea and Dianna's life, even though the story is obviously completely fictional.**

**NONE of the shows mentioned (Glee, The L Word, Will&Grace) aswell as other companies belong to me. I do not own them, nor Lea or Dianna (hell, I wish! :P) this is just a mere representation of what could've been.**

**I will start from the very beginning: Lea & Dianna get to know each other on the set of Glee. I am planning on a long fanfiction, so this is the beginning but it will evolve a lot.**

**I write Dianna's view of the events, then Lea's.**

**Hope you'll like it, reviews are welcome! :)**

**PS. English is not my main language, so please be nice if there is any mistake ^^**

**Here we go.**

**Chapter 1 - MICHELE, MA BELLE**

I just got cast for Glee.

Ryan Murphy called me yesterday to confirm that I will be on the show, even if I auditioned yesterday.

I guess they really were desperate, because my first audition, yesterday morning, didn't go so well. I'm supposed to be this evil and mean cheerleader, and what do I wear at the audition? A summer dress, flats, and wavy hair. Nice one, Dianna, I must say.

They called me afterwards, asking me to come back in the afternoon with straight hair, and to wear something sexy. After a few internal struggles as to which clothes in my closet can be considered to be 'sexy', if I actually have anything sexy at all, I wore something I thought could be regarded as such, rushed out and obviously forgot to straighten my hair. _Nice one again, Dianna, nice one!_ So I stopped by some household appliances store, bought the cheapest straightener there, plugged it in in the toilet in the nearest Starbucks, straightened my hair, and rushed to the audition.

And then I sang, and then I got cast.

The morning after my casting, I snooze the alarm clock, and nestle under the sheets of my bed. I always need those 5 more minutes laying there, not to sleep, but to realize where I am, who I am, how old I am (I tend to forget basic pieces of information in early mornings). So after registering my current location, identity and age, I try to sit up on my bed, rub my eyes roughly, and stretch my back until I hear it crack.

I stand up, propping myself onto the bed-stand with my hands (have I mentioned that I'm not a morning person?), and quickly grab a glass of orange juice, and a chocolate chunk cookie. I drink the juice and take bites of the cookie while trying to make up my mind about what to wear on a read-through. Do they want me wearing something professional? Do they want me in a suit? Who am I kidding, Ryan Murphy wears sweaters and basque berets.

So I go for a knee-long skirt and a white blouse, to match my white bracelet my brother Jacob gave to me as a congratulation present for when I got my part in Heroes.

I look in the mirror, trying to see what Ryan and his collegues could find wrong about my outfit; my gaze locks with my own eyes for a second, finally seeing what they could look down on: my face looks like I've been hybernated and just woken up from a 200 years sleep.

I need make-up. Badly.

* * *

><p>I've always thought that I don't have blood, but pure steroids running in my veins. I wake up in the early morning effortlessly, without even the need of an alarm clock, having my biologic clock always perfectly set. It probably helps that I always sleep without any sunblinds on the windows of my room: I love waking up to the light of the sun, knowing that nature is still there, even in New York… or Los Angeles, where I am at the moment, in my rented apartment.<p>

I quickly get a shower, get changed, grab my keys, get in my car, turn the ignition on and head to Ryan Murphy Productions, down in Melrose Avenue, where the first read-through is taking place.

I got cast a week ago. It was one of my first weeks in Los Angeles, and I was cheerfully driving to my audition, listening to "It's My Life" by Bon Jovi, singing along, and in the process I: nearly ran over Jon Bon Jovi (yes, that Jon Bon Jovi), ran a red light, and ended up in a fender bender.

After that, two very clear and lucid considerations came to my mind:

1) "It's My Life" is not my lucky song and may never be played in my car again.

2) Practice driving a lot more, or just take cabs.

The audition itself went okay, even though when I read my lines – which were supposed to be super serious – everyone bursted out laughing and I wanted to dig my own grave. But then they said ''It's genius! You're Rachel Berry!", and I didn't know if I had to take that as a compliment, because she's talented, or just as a snarky comment because she's clearly mental.

But they sounded so nice, so I just smiled along, and I got the job.

Yay me.

I drive through a small entrance, under two stone arches, and stop right under them: two gun-toting watchmen (what do they need pistols for, anyway?) approach my car window as I roll it down and say "I'm Lea Michele, part of the Glee cast, playing Rachel Berry, and I'm starting today with the first read-through!"; they indicate the big building on my right and say "Modular Building, 1st Floor. They already know you're going to be there so don't bother introducing yourself to everyone, Lea you-just-have-to-know-who-I-am Michele", smirking towards the end of the sentence. I feel slightly insulted by the sheer suggestion that I usually introduce myself to everyone just to brag about, like a spoiled little child needing to be praised and aknowledged as a big star. I just didn't think that they would have known about everyone who was supposed to come in, that's all.

I park my car near the building (Paramount Studios are of enormous proportions), and I do as I've been told, even though walking into a building, and passing by a whole lot of people questioningly looking at me, doesn't really make me feel good about not introducing myself – I feel rude.

I take the stairs to the 1st floor nonetheless, and when I finally get inside the Ryan Murphy Productions office, I run up against a girl. As I lift my eyes a bit higher, I find hers, and two hazel irises strike me: my gaze is stuck in them for what must be a second but feels like a full 5 minutes. One of her eyes is not perfectly hazel, but has dark brown dots on it, like hot chocolate drops on a dark green meadow. When I realize I've been over-analyzing her eyes, I do a double-take when I take in the beautiful face before me. She chuckles and introduces herself in a low-pitched voice: her laugh and her voice are the best music I've heard so far today. And this morning I had my shower listening to the full soundtrack of The Phantom of the Opera, which can actually tell you something there.

"Hi stranger. I'm Dianna Agron. Are you here for Glee?"

She smiles with a glint in her eyes, so I think she's just being friendly. I introduce myself, and try to calm down the wild creature that's chewing off my stomach (I must have had a poor breakfast), while I still can't take my eyes off that hazel expanse.

She is wearing a very classy blouse which hugs her in all the right places, and her skirt is just of the right length to show her legs from her knee down. I often like to notice and remember what one's wearing when I meet him, but it's different this time. Now I'm actually admiring mainly her body, and then the clothes celebrating it.

She walks me to the room where the others are already chatting, and she announces "This is Lea Michele, everyone!".

So she walks in, sits down and pats her hand on the chair next to her, so I just do as I'm told (God, I've done as I've been told twice this morning – this is SO not me).

I simply can't take my eyes off Dianna. I knew she was attractive: we got an email by Ryan Murphy listing the actors and actresses who will be in Glee, so JGroff googled her for me, I just couldn't bring myself around to creep her pictures like some crazy maniac before a blind date.

What I didn't know about her, is that she actually glows. Hey, don't laugh at me, because that's what she does: she glows. Well, at least she does when you meet her in person, which is a luck I would wish the entire world to have. If I had three wishes right now, I would wish for happiness and health for my family and friends, for the ceasing of drug testings on animals, and then for everybody in the world to meet Dianna in person.

She has this halo around her, she moves and swifts around her seat to smile at me like she is Venus and she runs the world. Like she owns the fucking planet.

* * *

><p>As soon as I arrive to the building, I take the stairs to the 1st floor, and there I see a room with twenty, maybe twentyfive people inside, already sat in their chairs around an oval-shaped table and chatting gleefully (the irony) to eachother. Ryan Murphy is standing, towering over the table, observing and studying every move of the kids.<p>

A tanned Latina is laughing along some joke told by a blunt-looking guy with a weird mohawk; a grown man with bizarre curly hair is telling a bunch of boys about his Broadway experience, and I can't concentrate enough to even consider the other faces.

I get out of the buzzing room, and just as I start walking to a coffee maker in the hall of the office, I stumble upon a girl, who just walked into me. I lock my gaze with her dark brown irises and I'm gone. I'm looking into the most intense eyes I've ever had the pleasure to meet in my life: they're contemplating me, they are scrutinizing the thoughts behind my expression, which, I realize, is completely dumbfounded. She's wearing tight jeans and a black top, with a black jacket on it… She looks really good. Really – really good.

Who is this girl?

I introduce myself, trying to sound nice, and asking her if she's here for Glee, which is what I'm here for, and I really hope that's what she's here for aswell. Her puzzled expression suddenly turns into some of the most beautiful happenings I've ever experienced: the corners of her mouth arch slightly, as her full lips expose a bright smile of pure joy.

She introduces herself, and the first thing that comes up to my mind when she says her name is the Beatles' song, "Michelle". You know, the one that goes:

_Michelle, ma belle,_

_these are words that go together well, my Michelle._

As I hum along the silly tune that's currently playing in my head, that beaming smile and her joyous voice just makes me want to keep her around as much as I can, so I offer her the seat next to me as we enter the room.

* * *

><p>The read-through goes smoothly: I wave an excited "hi" to Jenna Ushowitz, whom I've known since I was 8 years old; I'm quite happy I'll be working with her.<p>

When a certain Chris – baby blue eyes, a very neat haircut – pronounces his first lines in a very diva-like way, Dianna starts laughing. Well, not actually laughing, she squeals, which I find absolutely adorable: she squeals like a toddler who's just seen a funny puppet, and she takes a quick glimpse of my reaction (which is an adoring smile), so her expression drops, her lips get serious again, but not her eyes. I can see there's still a smile, that now familiar spark, in them.

Why do I feel like I'm out of my element? I am never, under any circumstances, to be found out of my element. I feel embarassed and excited about just having her sat beside me. Like she's got me intoxicated. My stomach monster is apparently very angry, and I can now physically feel my nervousness spread from my stomach up to my ears and down to my toes.

* * *

><p>I still have that damn song in my head, "Michelle, ma belle…", while I wonder why I instantly get a very nice feeling around my stomach area just by thinking about singing this to her one day, and the very fact that she's sitting next to me vocalizing her lines does not really help me direct my thoughts elsewhere.<p>

"You might laugh because every time I sign my name I put a gold star after it. But it's a metaphor, and metaphors are important. My gold stars are a metaphor for me being a star."

She blurts out these sentences, snapping into a very mature-sounding, quite unnatural voice, like she knows exactly what she's saying, and like she means every word, and every pause, and every sigh of it; she also sounds like somebody people don't like very much, which is all intended. This is exactly what Ryan, Ian and Brad are looking for: "That obnoxious voice is perfect, Lea! Now try and read THIS line" Ryan says, hovering behind us, poking his finger on her script, page 18, "The annoying voice is perfect for confident Rachel. Confident Rachel is easy. What about lonely Rachel?".

Lea nods and inhales slowly, while silently reading the selected line. Then she closes her eyes, her eyebrows forrow, and her lips show a little pout while she speaks: "I know I'm just a sophomore, but I can feel the clock ticking away. I-", Lea sighs, opening her eyes and fixating her passionate gaze into Ryan's "I don't want to leave high school with nothing to show for it…", she listens to Ryan saying Mr. Shuester's line, then she drops her gaze "everybody hates me".

She really looks on the edge of crying so after a second of impressed silence, Chris says "Aww, no we don't!" as he pats his hand on his chest, meaning it is heartfelt, and everybody agrees, nodding and smiling.

A black, fierce-looking girl (Amber, I think that's her name) suddenly turns to face Lea and says, with the most serious (and scary) look: "Oh no, I do". She keeps her expression steady for a while, followed by an awkward silence, but then her shoulders start quivering and she bursts into laughter, and everybody chuckles along.

The Latina says "Oh. My. God. I was totally going to say that too!", high-fiving Amber, and congratulating on her sense of humor.

I pat Lea's back gently, and as I turn around to face the others, I find myself amazed by the way they are all bonding already.

* * *

><p>Her hand just patted my back, and while she looks around the room, her fingers begin gently grazing my shoulder and before I can elaborate on her action, I feel a sudden heat reaching up to my cheeks, and I find myself at an immediate need of air. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, but now her nails are now making their way to my lower back, and as I lose her touch on my skin I blink my eyes open and pout a little. The feeling her fingers gave me was primitive. Totally non-sexually intended!<p>

I turn to look at her, only to find an intrigued Dianna, raising her right eyebrow and gaping. She looks so stunning I can't even begin to speak and try to explain myself because, really, there's nothing to explain there.

All of a sudden I realize that the read-through is over because everybody stands up and slowly starts leaving the room, waving goodbye: it felt like it barely lasted an hour, absorbed as I was by other thoughts in my head. Confusing and disconcerting thoughts.

First of all, I just met her. I may be blunt and outgoing, but I need time to enjoy physical proximity to another person: and here I am, almost in a reverie just for a graze.

Second of all, she's a girl. She is the most beautiful, attractive and enthralling girl I've ever met, but she's still a girl. Now, I may have revered a few women because of their talent, and idolized a few others because of their looks or fierce personality, but I never felt the urge of hugging them, of touching their skin, or of having them close to me as much as possible.

* * *

><p>I realize my hand is still on her shoulder, so I turn around, and I'm just about to remove my hand when I observe Lea closing her eyes, deep in thought. So I maliciously move my fingers to the small of her back and graze a little harder, only to tease her, but then I hear her inhale deeply, so I remove my hand. She blinks a few times before realizing where she is, and she pouts, which leaves me startled and taken aback.<p>

She was enjoying this? Because I'm quite pleased that she was against the idea of losing my touch. Wait, hold on Dianna, she's a girl, she's straight, and you just met her. And, I am a straight girl aswell. Am I?

I must be, I've always had boyfriends in my life, and always enjoyed their company, their dumb jokes, their unadorned humour, the good sense of security their arms provided, and their occasional gentle, romantic thoughts.

Sure, I have admired women and girls who've inspired me, but I've never felt myself nicely astounded by female attention.

We exit the room, as Ryan announces that the first scenes of the first two episodes will be shot in 4 days in a school in Burbank, and that they will require us to begin recording the songs we've been assigned. "Oh right, there is a particular Quinn-Rachel scene which will be packed with angst: I don't want any fighting or girl drama in my studios so you'll better be practicing the lines together, get to know eachother and bond a little before we can have you, Dianna, calling Lea 'manhands' or 'RuPaul'."

I look at Lea, who looks thrilled and contented by this last piece of information: we will have to practice together. Surely, I am elated by the very thought of spending time alone with her, but I'm also in a cold-sweat for what might happen. Or what might rather NOT happen.

We arrange to meet at Lea's rented apartment tomorrow morning, so that we have what remains of today to learn our lines and to practice our songs.

I'm scared stiff.


	2. Will & Grace

**Chapter 2 everybody! I hope you like it :) Reviews are much appreciated!**

**Chapter 2 - WILL & GRACE**

Later on, I'm studying my lines, sitting on a chair near my bow-window, often glancing at the sun setting, and I find myself amazed by the way the light touches the outlines of the far away hills, just before disappearing behind them. I feel the need to take a picture. I go and grab my camera, hurrying to the living room: I open my window, peek my camera through and snap a picture. Then I look down on the street, where some kids are holding hands and walking through a park, following who must be their school teacher, so I quicky shoot another picture.

I love taking pictures of beautiful moments that strike me. I once heard a quote by Ernst Haas: "The camera doesn't make a bit of difference. All of them can record what you are seeing. But, you have to SEE". I think it perfectly represents what taking pictures is for me: I think that before dashing into the art of photography, you have to learn to see.

One of my favourite movies of all times, "Amélie", is exactly about this: learning to see, to notice the beautiful littlest things that happen everyday around us, but we normally don't behold, just because they're not important for whatever we are busy doing in that particular moment.

But if everybody tried to look for the kids holding hands, for the sunlight peeking through the hills, for the little smile playing on a stranger's lips, for the dog quietly watching you, for the chilvalric gesture an old man shows to his wife… you would see LIFE. Everywhere. And you would feel like you're really living, and not like you're just waiting for your time to elapse. You would perceive happiness everywhere around you.

* * *

><p>I'm singing "On My Own" again for the umpteenth time in my life, just to see if I still remember the lyrics to it. I can. I've been singing this song since I was 8 years old. I can't think of anything else I can do right now, so I just decide I'll call Jenna.<p>

"Hey Lea! It's so nice to hear from you! How are things?"

"Everything's fine, thank you! How are you?"

"I'm rehearsing 'I Kissed A Girl' right now, and even though I didn't know the song before, I love it now! I'm thinking of ways I could get people to like and remember Tina right from the first episode… Anyway, what were you up to?"

"I was rehearsing 'On My Own' actually, but then I got bored… I was thinking that maybe we could organize a little get-together tonight with the cast, just to get to know eachother better before we start filming… I might like to talk to Naya before she gets to call me 'Ru-Paul', you know!"

"That's a nice idea! We could… well, some of us have an early song recording tomorrow morning so maybe we could just go out for dinner? Plus, a dinner is a perfect chance to talk. We might eat at the Italian place I told you about some time ago? 'Campanile', I think it was called, down South La Brea Avenue. Let me look for it on the net…" I hear her tapping her fingers quickly on the keyboard of her laptop. "Exactly! 624 South La Brea Avenue, 'Campanile'" I quickly write it down on a Post-it.

"Sure, so do you know anyone's phone number? I have Dianna's, so I could call her and see if she can come."

"I have Naya's, Matt's, Chris's and Amber's… I'll just send an email to the others and see if they can make it."

"Alright, so let's say… 7 sharp at Campanile? When you know who's coming, you might book a table!"

"Yeah, make sure you text me when you know whether Dianna's coming!"

"Oh yeah sure! Bye Jen!"

"Bye Lea!"

Click.

So, now. Call Dianna, text Jenna, get ready, look for car directions to get there, go out.

* * *

><p>I hear my phone blasting "Helter Skelter", I pick it up from the table near the bow-window and answer.<p>

"Hello?"

"Hi Dianna, it's Lea!" I hear her inhale deeply before saying: "How are you?"

"I'm just fine, I was rehearsing my lines! How are you?"

"I'm good, thanks! I just spoke to Jenna, we were organizing a little get-together for tonight to socialize a bit with the other kids!"

"Oh, sure, sounds good! Who's going to be there?"

"Jenna, me, and then probably Amber, Mark, Naya and Chris… Jenna is emailing the others but I'm not sure they'll read in time to be there."

"Oh, alright. What time and where?"

"At 7 sharp at 'Campanile', 624 South La Brea Avenue. I actually don't know where that is, but I guess I'll use Google Maps"

"I know where that is, I've been there! It's like one of the top Italian restaurants in LA, I love it. I can offer you a ride there and back!"

I hear her exhale and I can feel her smiling when she says: "I'm not sure I can take advantage of your car, I mean… we just met, I don't want to be too free on my manner. And, I do have my own car"

"Yeah, but you don't have the slightest idea how to get there. Do you even know where you are going to park your car?" I smirk.

"Well, I… no."

"Alright, I'll take that as a yes to me offering you a ride." I smirk again.

"I don't want to take advantage of you, I can make it perfectly on my own!" I can almost see her stomping her foot right now, as I hear her willful tone of voice.

"And I know that, but I always like to help a stranger to get to know the streets of LA. So, I'll come and pick you up at twenty to 7"

"A- Alright then."

Looooooong pause.

"Ssssooooo, where do you live?"

"Oh, sh- sorry!" She blurts out her full address, quite quickly, I scribble it down on the first piece of paper I can find, she quickly says "Bye" and then she hangs up.

She's a quite strange, quirky person. It's 6 o'clock at the moment, so I quickly put my camera back in its case, have a shower, and then stare at my closet for a good 10 minutes. What do I wear now?

* * *

><p>I text Jenna to tell her Dianna's coming tonight, so she texts back: "Booked a table for 7 o' clock, under the name: Glee kids".<p>

I get dressed quickly, and during the process I get a call from my beloved JGroff.

"Hey Jon! I have loads to tell you about my LA adventure, I need your big gay opinion on something, but right now I have a hot blonde picking me up in five minutes…"

"Wait, does THAT have anything to do with you needing my gay opinion? A hot blonde?"

"Well… Do you remember googling Dianna Agron for me?"

"Holy sh-! Lea, is she the hot blonde you're blabbering about? Have you two been involved in anything gay I'd like to hear about?"

"You chatty mouth! I can't believe you're asking something so personal on the phone!" I smirk.

"Lea, you must be kidding me. My best friend is three thousand miles away from my living room and my mug of hot chocolate, so I can't gossip with anyone. Plus, I just watched Will & Grace so I'm dead depressed!"

"Aww, my Will…" I can feel him smiling at the phone.

"And you are my Grace, so will you please call me tomorrow as soon as you can, so we can have a proper Will & Grace talk about the Agron girl?

"That's for sure. I need to talk to you badly about this whole mess. So, I guess I'll speak to you soon! I'll call you tomorrow!"

"Okay L! Bye and have a fuuuun night!" I can hear him smirking, I hate him, but I really miss talking to him.

"I love you and I miss you"

"Oh I know, cause I'm awesome as that"

"Oookay, bye Jon!" I manage to say through my hearty laugh.

"Bye!"

Click.

God, I have my phone trapped somewhere in the crook of my neck, between my cheek and my shoulder, and my door bell is now buzzing, so I slip my shoes on, get my purse and run at the door. I open it, and my lungs instantly need oxygen. There she is, a smiling Dianna Agron with her blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing a light brown dress and blue flats, a matching blue scarf encircling her slender neck.

There is a long pause, I'm still gaping at her glowing figure.

"Hi!"

"Erm… hi, I love your… dress" is all I can come up with, a lame (and toned down) version of 'I love how the streetlamp light is glowing on your face, will you please let me hug you and stare at your perfect features all night long?' I actually come to like what I came up with, while I'm repeating the alternative version of it in my mind.

She smiles. I die.

"Thank you! I love your... blouse!" and I swear, she smirks flirtaciously, and raises her right eyebrown.

Is it possible to die twice in the time span of 30 seconds?


	3. The View From The Afternoon

**I'd like to remind you who are reading this, that lines (-) between paragraphs mean that the point of view has switched from Lea's to Dianna's or viceversa.**

**Chapter 3 – THE VIEW FROM THE AFTERNOON**

I still don't know where I got the confidence to flirt subtly with Lea.

I mean, I'm way past the denial phase when she shows up at her door, red flushing her cheeks, her hair loosely curled, her jeggings celebrating her long, slender legs (how can someone so short have such long legs?), and her blouse glorifying her… well, you know.

I am aware and conscious that I like her, but having feelings and acting on them are two entirely different things.

I guess that what drives me to smirk and raise my eyebrow suggestively is the novelty of what I'm feeling: I'm into a girl, and here I am, flirting with her in no way I've ever flirted with any guy I've had in my life.

I guess I want to test the waters a bit, just to see her reactions.

And I love the shy smile playing on her lips right now.

I may act tough here, flirting and smiling and all of that, but as I indicate my car to Lea, letting her pass me by, I notice her bottom: I must be an ass girl, because I cannot repeat the effect it's having on my body. Well, actually I've never liked any other girl, so I guess I have a thing just for Lea's backside.

I get in my car. I look at her. I need to breathe here, it's like I forget to do it so easily when I'm with Lea.

I press "play" on my iPod, and Arctic Monkeys start blasting in the speakers of my car.

"Who is singing this?" she asks politely.

"You don't know Arctic Monkeys?" I gape at her, and she shakes her head, looking down at her lap endearingly.

"Well, they are a band from Sheffield, England, and this is their best song" I say, while browsing through my iPod artists, and finally playing "The View From The Afternoon".

"I love them, their lyrics are so clever and they have this cunning way of describing situations I've lived so many times. Like this" and I let Lea hear the first lines of the song: 'Anticipation has a habit to set you up for disappointment in evening entertainment but tonight there'll be some love…'

"They sound clever!" she looks impressed and stares at me, her lips parted in a smile. The butterflies in my stomach are partying hard at this point.

"Yeah… yeah they are clever" is the best I can come up with, now that my eyes are roaming her irises, her blouse and what it exposes, her legs and her lips… Oh God I can see her tongue. She is slowly running it over her upper line of pearly white teeth, slightly letting it out to wet her upper lip. She is doing it clearly subconciously, because her eyes are fixated upon my lips.

I gulp and I realize I haven't started the engine yet. I breathe in, forcing air into my lungs to regain my self-awareness, I look away and I start the engine.

It's going to be a hard, painfully long night.

* * *

><p>As I listen that Arctic Monkeys song I silently curse myself and my narrow music tastes: I will definitely broaden my songs collection as soon as I get home.<p>

* * *

><p>"Ssooo… Do you live in New York?"<p>

"Yeah, I grew up in the Bronx area. Where did you grow up?"

"I was born in Georgia, but then I grew up in San Francisco and lived in Texas for several years…" Ok, time to bring this up. I may sound too free on my manner, but I'm dead curious about this. "Your surname sounds foreign… Where are your parents from?" Lea looks a bit confused, so I quickly blurt out "Sorry, I was rude. I'm just curious"

"No, it's alright" she smiles, I exhale in relief "My full name is Lea Michele Sarfati, my mum is an Italian American, while my dad is a Spanish-Sephardic Jew."

"Wow. You are a blend of ethnicities and nationalities!" I say, while trying to memorize what she just said.

"Guess I am" she smiles and her eyes are sparkling "Are your parents foreign aswell? I mean, Agron isn't exactly the most common American surname…"

"Well, my dad's family is from Russia and my original surname was Agronsky, but Ellis Island officials altered it, so it became just 'Agron'. My father is Jewish and my mum converted to Judaism to marry my dad"

"Wow now that is an interesting backstory! And your surname is pronounced 'A-gron' right?"

"Yes, and yours is pronounced 'Michele', just like 'Michelle', the song by the Beatles!".

My heart might explode right now: she is laughing her heart out. Her chortle is the cutest, happiest sound I've ever heard. She tops chuckling babies and puppies trying to bark properly.

"Nobody had ever told me that!" she says, inhaling and sighing gleefully.

"I love some Beatles me" and I pull off a geeky face.

"I think I will have to broaden my music tastes if I want to keep up the conversation here" she says, with an adorable look on her face.

"I'm sure I don't know every song that was ever sang on Broadway… You're doing perfectly fine" I say, looking at her with adoring eyes.

* * *

><p>She is the cutest person alive. How can somebody be so enthralling?<p>

Her sweet nerd face, her tender glance towards me, her glowing figure, her intense eyes, her perfect white teeth, the way she makes me feel when I'm around her.

We arrive at the Italian restaurant, and she rides around the block to park her car: in the process of backing up, she puts her arm around my seat and gets closer to turn around. I inhale and I take in her perfume. I can recognize it, it's Chloè fragrance: it smells like musky rose, and I instantly feel fuzzy.

She now turns around, looks at me bewildered as I shake that feeling off, regaining my self-awareness: she smiles again. It's like we're putting on a silent film, but I'm somehow failing to read the title cards.

She turns around her seat to open her door, and I still need to recover from smelling her scent, when I feel her poking my shoulder. Her hand. On my shoulder. Again. For the second time in a day. It's not enough, I need more of this. She's a drug. Dianna A-drug. God, I'm so pathetic.

"Erm, Lea I think we might want to eat before you pass out. You look flushed! Are you alright?"

I am hyperventilating so no, I'm not physically alright, but the hand on my shoulder is the closest I've ever got to heaven so I nod desperately and I get out of the car.

I crave her touch. And it's been only 8 hours since I first met her. This is not okay!

* * *

><p>I smelled her perfume. It's Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel. Of course, it's such a classic. It smells like jasmine, patchouli and rose. I'm so curious about really getting to know her, because a) she's beautiful, b) she's sweet, c) she's intelligent and interesting, d) I reeeeaaally like her, like… really, and, last but not least, she seems to be flattered by my attention.<p>

I am a bit concerned about her health though. She looks like she's on the edge of a lung failure everytime we meet. But she's a singer, she's been professionally trained in the area of breath control. I still haven't heard her sing! I need to fix this, as soon as I can.


	4. You're such a hipster it shows

**Hey readers! I'm updating with 2 chapters.**

**Reviews are highly appreciated!**

**Lines between paragraphs mean that the POV is switching from Lea's to Dianna's or viceversa.**

**Chapter 4 – You're such a hipster it shows**

We are silently strolling, side by side, getting closer to the main street.

I can hear the approaching roar of the traffic, as we walk around the block to enter the restaurant. Our arms randomly brush against each other, and I'm getting addicted to the feeling.

And, by the way, I'd like to point out something here: I am usually a bubbly, excited, happy person. I'm not this taciturn, speechless, uncommunicative, nervous, Agron-addicted monster she's turning me into. I would have run and hugged Jenna this morning when I saw her, if it wasn't for miss Dianna who silently ordered me to sit by her side.

So I'll have to fix that, as soon as the company of others can distract me enough to be my usual chirpy self.

As we enter the restaurant, I see some of the guys from this morning. If I recall the names well, I see Naya, Amber, Cory, Jenna and Chris.

I feel Lea shifting beside me, so I turn around just to see her rushing towards them and enveloping Jenna in a hug: she introduces herself to the others, apologizing for not having done it this morning.

So I finally walk towards the others, introducing myself aswell.

"Hey you! We'll be fellow Cheerios on Glee. I am Naya Rivera, aka Santana Lopez. Head bitch in charge" she says, smirking and offering her hand. I see what she's doing there. So I take her hand and squeeze it hard, answering with a cold tone of voice 'Hello, I'm Dianna Agron, aka Quinn Fabray. _Captain_ of the Cheerios", emphasizing 'Captain'. She looks impressed, so she smiles friendly.

"Wow, I'm scared. Are we safe here?" Amber says, motioning her finger between us, and before I manage to say anything, Lea remarks "She's really cool and nice, she's definitely not the bitch she's portraying on Glee", so I smile at her, thankful.

Chris and Cory say hi aswell, introducing themselves.

So we all sit around a table: I sit next to Lea. You're not surprised really, are you?

Lea is so excited to see Jenna that she can't stop smiling and shifting on her chair, talking about the cast of Spring Awakening and the Broadway scene they've left – for now – behind.

As we order our food, Jenna beckons to me, whispering "Do you really want to hear a funny story about Lea? It involves alcohol and spin-the-bottle". Lea overhears Jenna, so she blurts out "Nononononono please Jenna you can't do that to me! Plus, I have many stories you'll beg me not to tell everybody".

Jenna considers this for a moment, then she eyes the way Lea is nervously looking at me, so she goes "I don't care. You know Dianna, Lea and I lived together in New York, before auditioning for Glee. We've been knowing eachother since we were 8 years old, because I tried out for musicals just as much as she did, except that she actually got the parts she wanted while I didn't" she laughs, Lea says "That's not true! You got to be understudy for 4 roles in Spring Awakening!"

"Lea, as much as I was blessed to meet you guys, JGroff and all of that lot, my dreams went a bit farther than being an understudy. But by the way. We played both in Spring Awakening, and the guys of the cast were amazing so we often crashed at Lea's house for parties, and that obviously led to drunk nights if we didn't have an early show the next day." At this point, Lea is holding her head in her hands, while shaking it in disbelief.

"Well, the guys often wanted to play spin-the-bottle because the majority of the cast was single, and they obviously wanted the kisses to look real, not like the 'lame pecks people give to their dogs' – this is Jonathan Groff by the way, her best friend. There obviously were other girls on the cast so the bottle often selected two girls. Well…" she enjoys the dramatic pause and then she says: "Lea kissed something like 5 girls, including understudies and crew members".

"…Yeah, and random people from the street. Cause I'm awesome as that" Lea goes on, sniggering. Jenna keeps on going, aggravating Lea's disbelief "And she didn't hold her tongue in either! They were full-on predatory kisses. She kissed those girls like she'd kiss Justin Timberlake"

I'm quite impressed by the scene my imagination is building. And… what's the word? Turned on, I guess?

* * *

><p>I'm dead embarassed by the story Jenna is telling, but the way Dianna's jaw is slowly dropping and her right eyebrow is slowly raising is so stunning I just have to play tough here.<p>

I've got interesting stories on Jenna aswell, so I'll make up for that later.

We all talk to eachother, sharing funny stories and our past experiences with the show business. When we start eating our food, I see Dianna's vegetarian dish: "Are you vegetarian?" I ask.

"Yeah, I am!"

"Oh my God I'm vegan!"

"Oh my God I'm hamburgerian!" Cory sneaks in the conversation, his mouth full of meat, adding his clever remark. We all laugh along, because boy, that Cory is funny.

"But yeah, I am vegetarian and a PETA supporter"

"You've got to be kidding me. I am a PETA card holder aswell"

"Girls, you sure you are not sisters secretly separated at birth? Cause this is getting weird" Amber says.

"Ok, let's try this one, I'm sure we're different here: favourite genre of music. And this question is to everyone!"

Me: "Musicals and classic rock"

Amber: "R'n'B and pop"

Jenna: "Musicals and hip-hop"

Naya: "Pop, hip-hop and anything that's on the radio"

Cory: "Classic rock and pop"

Chris: "Musicals and pop"

Dianna: "Rock and indie"

Naya says: "God, Dianna, you're such a hipster it shows", looking at her, smiling.

"You can all call me Di if you want. What are your nicknames?"

Me: "Well my name is short enough. I don't really need any nicknames. But if you really want, you can all call me 'gorgeous'" I shrug.

Amber: "Amber. Don't really have any nicknames. I'm sad as that"

Jenna: "Mine is Jen!"

Naya: "I'd like to call you Panda. You look like one anywayz. I go by Nay-nay or Nah-nay or Nay-Rivers. Pick one and stick with it"

Cory: "Cory Allan-Michael Monteith. But you can call me Cory Allan-Michael Monteith. Or you can add random names in between"

Chris: "Pinocchio" Everybody looks at him at this point, and Naya says: "Oh dear, you do like Pinocchio though… How did you get out of that freakin' whale? Oh wait, I just need to take a picture and send it to my little sister Nickayla. She's going through the Disney classics phase right now, and she just needs to see you"

I say: "Next question?", smiling at Dianna. Her eyes are sparkling, glistening and full of curiosity.

"Mmh… How did you audition for Glee, and singing which song?"

Me: "Jonathan Groff, my best friend and former cast partner in Spring Awakening, introduced me to Ryan Murphy who told me he had got the script for Glee. So I auditioned with 'On My Own'"

Amber: "I heard about the audition and went to it thinking it was just a singing role. So I sang 'And I'm Telling You' from Dreamgirls"

Jenna: "I auditioned in New York, singing 'Waiting For Life To Begin' by Once On This Island, but I messed up the verse… They ended up picking me anyway" she says, smiling.

Naya: "I was a fan of Ryan Murphy's work on Nip/Tuck, so I looked for what he was planning auditions for, and I found out about Glee: I was actually in a glee club back in High School, so I went and sang 'Emotion' by the Bee Gees"

Cory: "I sent in a tape since I was in Vancouver at the time: I recorded myself drumming on Tupperware using unsharpened pencils. Then I got called so I went in LA and auditioned with 'Honesty' by Billy Joel"

Chris: "I originally auditioned for the role of Artie, the one Kevin McHale got. But Ryan wanted me on the show so bad he actually created the role of Kurt specifically for me. I sang 'Mr. Cellophane' from Chicago"

I ask: "What about you Di?"

"I auditioned yesterday, with 'Fly Me To The Moon' by Frank Sinatra"

As the night goes on, I am my bubbly self again, and I love the feeling of getting to know new people and standing so close to Dianna. Oh, Dianna. This girl is so interested in other people. You know, I like getting to know new people aswell, but what she does is different: she's interested in anything you'd say. She will look into your eyes thoughtfully as you speak, and it'll look like you're talking about philosophy or as if you've just discovered a cure for cancer. She just loves discovering and unraveling people I guess.

This side of Dianna just draws me closer to her: I'd like to know her better aswell. I'd like to know what made of her such a thoughtful and intense person. So I just keep on gazing at her, thinking to myself what kind of guy would let her be single. Oooh, hold on Lea.

Is she single? Am I sure of that? I'll have to ask. I can't blurt it out right now, especially with the bemused looks I've been getting from Jenna all night long.

* * *

><p>We walk towards my car at the end of the amazing Glee dinner we just had. It's unusually chilly for an LA October, and the air is dancing with her hair and her blouse, revealing her neck and the thin lines of her sternum and collarbones. The street lamps are drawing her silhouette against the nocturnal darkness, her eyes are starry, and her teeth are pearly white, showing in what is the most beautiful and purest smile I've ever seen.<p>

"You know, I really had fun tonight. They seem cool guys!"

"Yeah… yeah they do". I'm too focused on her figure to say something clever so I don't even try.

"You know, I'm not usually like this. I am more like the way I was tonight: I'm bubbly, over-excited and smiling a lot. I'm not usually this nervous and self-conscious."

"Why would you be nervous or self-conscious?"

"Well… I don't know. Being around you feels like I have to deserve my time with you. It feels like I'm not clever enough, or edgy, or interesting to keep up the conversation with you"

Wait, what?

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, I'm just Lea and…"

"And I'm just Dianna. Hi" I say, smiling, as I offer my hand to her.

"Hi" Her newly confident smile warms me, and actual heat emanates from her hand as I shake it gently. After what feels like eternity, we stop staring at eachother and my hand lets go of hers. We resume walking to the car, and I'm thinking to myself that I still haven't heard her sing.

As we enter the car, I say: "Actually, I should be the one intimidated here, I've heard marvellous things about your voice, but I haven't heard you sing yet."

"Well, I'll have to record 'On My Own' in the next days. You can come to the recording studios and have a listen, if you're up to it"

"Sure. I'd love to."

The world stops for a while: she's staring right into my eyes, her face expression is somewhere between serious and intrigued. Her eyes suddenly lower to my lips and dart back to my gaze, averting shortly after, a shy smile now playing on her lips, and her glance is now directed out of the window of my car, far away into the traffic lights.

So I bring myself to start the engine and drive her home.

* * *

><p>What is this situation I'm dashing into?<p>

I have feelings for Dianna, and that includes physical attraction. Well, it's not just that.

It's magnetism and a cosmic pull.

It's like destiny is telling me: "This is what you've been waiting for. You went through heart-breaks, tough break-ups, shitty situations, crying alone in your car listening to the soundtrack of 'The Way We Were', you went through all of this for a reason. It all built up to this moment in your life when everything you've ever known about yourself and everything you've ever been sure about yourself comes crashing down in a dramatic shattering sound, and Dianna, the cause of that, walks in and suddenly the bits and pieces of your self-awareness reflect her eyes, her adoring eyes, and you're perfectly content with that. So she starts picking up the pieces, and glueing them together in a new shape and pattern. Your new self is born again, with a new light and a new gleam in it."


	5. Oxygen deprivation

**Lines between paragraphs mean that the POV is switching from Lea's to Dianna's or viceversa.**

**Chapter 5 – Oxygen deprivation**

We are now in front of her house. I walked Lea to the door of her rented apartment, just to make sure she's safe – it's LA after all.

It's quite painful to say goodbye to her. Her dark chocolate eyes are glistening with intensity, and her plump full lips are slightly parted… those lips, oh my goodness. I really don't want to say goodbye.

But I have to, it's not like we can spend the night together, for Christ's sake.

So I finally manage to say "I've had a wonderful night. Thank you": I get closer and hug her.

But then something I definitely didn't expect happens: she gets closer aswell and now her hips are within an inch of mine. I decide to deepen the hug because fuck, who cares really.

So I close the only distance left between our bodies and now we're one.

Her head is just resting against my left collarbone, and I can hear her slow intakes of air. Her chest keeps on raising and lowering and… Oh God. Are those…? I can feel her breasts against the upper part of my stomach, just below mine.

I just have to do something here or else I might implode. So I manage to finally break the moment, stepping away. I was apparently holding my breath because I need air right now.

Oxygen deprivation can be a problem when I'm with Lea.

"Thanks to you, too. I enjoyed getting to know you better. Night, have sweet dreams!" she says, with a joyful smile, showing her teeth in their splendor.

Now I will definitely have sweet dreams.

* * *

><p>Morning after the GREAT hug. I can still smell her Chloè perfume. I can still feel her body pressed against mine. I can still hear the fast thumping of her heart against my cheek.<p>

My biological clock is a bit early this morning, out of excitement I guess.

My phone is buzzing though. I pick it up: it's Ryan Murphy.

"Hi Lea, good morning" I can hear concern worrying his voice.

"Hello Ryan! Is everything alright?"

"No, I'm afraid it's not. You know, I gave you all the script I wrote for the first two episodes, which I thought were both going to be aired by FOX as soon as they were shot, and then there would be a short hiatus just to feel the anticipation for the others to come."

"Yeah…"

"Well, the guys from FOX read the script. I'm afraid that the Pilot will have to go through their approval before airing. And even after airing the Pilot, they want to see how people react to that. If we get a good audience percentage, the show will go on. Otherwise… I'm afraid they will cut our budget, and I'm not sure the show will keep on going. We need a high budget because of the songs and dance numbers, and locations"

My heart is sinking somewhere near my stomach.

"But… but what about the kids? I met them yesterday and they're amazing! They… they just can't deny them their future! Those guys are MADE for the characters you wrote. The characters you wrote will change the way people perceive bullying at school. This show will change the lives of so many people!"

"I know Lea. This is why I believed this project so much in the first place. I have so many good ideas in mind for the future of this show you can't even imagine. But you must admit that the script itself is controversial."

"But that's why it's great in the first place!"

"I know. But it deals with bullying, with gay kids, with adoption, with gay parents, with pedophilia, with OCD, with sex and with religion. That's exactly why I love it aswell, but we have to go through their approval and the audience's approval first. I have to call the other kids now… We will meet at 11 o' clock at my office nonetheless with all of you to re-schedule the song recordings and the shooting. We're recording 'On My Own' later in the afternoon. Bye Lea, see you later"

I look at the clock. It's 9 am. I want to call Dianna so bad, but I know she'll be on the phone with Ryan right now. So I just have breakfast, and call JGroff instead. I know it's 6 am in NY but I just need to talk to him right now, and besides, he usually sleeps less than me if that's even possible.

"MmphLea?" He's munching something. Good, I didn't wake him up.

"Hey Jon! Good thing I didn't wake you up"

"No Lea, my stomach wakes up before me anyway, and then torments me until I have breakfast"

"Yeah yeah… How are you?"

"I'm good me. How are you? I feel something's worrying your extentions, my love"

"Yeah Jon… I had such a great time yesterday night and this morning it went all crashing to the ground" I can feel tears coming up.

"Does it have anything to do with the hot blonde?"

"Not really. Well Ryan Murphy just called me telling me that the people at FOX read the script and since it's controversial they need to see the finished product of the first episode and approve it before it can go on air. And even then, we will have to gain our good percentage of audience on the first airing, or FOX will cut the production budget and the show will basically be over…"

"Lea, Lea, Lea… It's always like that with tv series!"

"…It is?"

"Yes it is. The L Word was like that aswell"

"But… we're not on Showtime, we're on FOX and the show is about gays, OCD, bullying and all of that."

"FOX already approved the general project. That's why Ryan already has a budget. They need to see every detail of the shooting now. Because the script might be controversial, but if the actors make it weird and too serious aswell, FOX will think twice before approving. It just has to be natural, and funny."

"Oookay, but Ryan sounded concerned"

"Ryan was concerned because he's Ryan Murphy and thinks that the show business industry will kiss his forehead and say 'thank you' for anything his _genius_ comes up with. But for normal tv series, it's always like that"

"Oh. What about the audience though?"

"After FOX approval they will promote it a lot, don't worry. It's bound to be a big show, Lea! I mean, it's music, sex, teenage drama and underdogs on tv! How can that not be successful? There are more outcasts in American society than we like to admit. Everyone is a bit of a loser, if he stops and think about it"

"Yeah"

"And… the LGBTQ youth will be glued to the screen like it's The L Word!"

I laugh. Oh, Jon, he always knows how to make me feel better.

"Talking about The L Word… This little miss here did have something to tell me yesterday, and I'm not going to forget. So. Dianna Agron?"

"Oh. Yeah… Well, I met her yesterday morning at the read-through and… Remember when you Googled her and you said she looked gorgeous and you might be straight for her?"

"Yes"

"Well, you didn't even meet her. You can't understand how lovely and kind and stunning she is in person"

"..."

"… I might be gay for Dianna Agron"

"…I knew it! I knew you were already questioning, back in the Spring Awakening years, with all of those predatory kisses with the other girls on spin-the-bottle…"

"Drop it already Jon, I've already been through that with Jenna yesterday. With Dianna hearing it all"

"Wait. She knows you were questioning?"

"No, I don't think that's the way she perceived it. Jenna was joking about it. But she sure knows I've kissed girls before, in a 'predatory way' and that was an embarassing moment"

"Alright. So… how was the night?"

"It was amazing. She came to pick me up at my apartment because she knew I don't know LA that well…"

"Sweetie, you got lost twice before finding your apartment when you landed. And you had a map. You don't know LA at all, and have no sense of direction whatsoever, except when you're in New York"

"Well, New York is easy, and I've lived there all my life."

"Anyway, she did have a point. Then?"

"Well, I was so blown away by her appearance that I stammered out 'I love your… dress' or something lame as that, and she said 'Thank you, I… love your blouse' and she smirked flirtaciously and raised her right eyebrow"

"Wow, I'll give the girl some credit, she knows what gets you"

"When she raises her eyebrow I just…"

"I know sweetie, I know"

"Well, then we spoke about our origins… She's originally from Russia, did you know that? I guess I have to thank Motherland for those cheekbones"

"Oh dear, dear… You've fallen hard, haven't you?"

"And I can't get up…" I manage to say, sighing.

"Oh Grace. My love for you is like the scar on your forhead. Ugly, but permanent"

"Oh Will… But let's talk about you! Got a hot date?"

"No, but the guy who's dating me does"

We're back on quoting Will & Grace and I just can't stop laughing: he remembers every single line of the show we used to watch together.

"Right, so, back to you. How do we get you two together? Pretend to think, pretend to think. Oh yeah. Start flirting with her unabashedly. You're talented at that."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better…"

"No I'm not. I mean, what would I get out of that? But by the way. Take her to the point where she can't stand physical distance between you two. And invasion of her personal space will do the trick."

"I can't!"

"You're always hugging people and throwing them all around the place, and God do I know what I'm talking about… Why is it a problem to get close to her?"

"Because when I'm close to her, _she_ does the trick. When we're in close proximity, I just… well, let's just say oxygen deprivation is one of the side effects"

"Oookay. You'll just have to keep those side effects under control while you're being your usual bubbly persona and let yourself be yourself around her. And get some confidence baby!"

"How?"

"…Sing"

* * *

><p>I just got the news from Ryan, so I call Lea.<p>

"Hey Lea! Have you heard from Ryan?"

"Yeah… I'm positive about it though! Our only responsability here is to make it funny and real. People have to relate to it"

"Yeah I agree… Even though I only have… 2 lines in the Pilot. And they're all mean remarks about Rachel I'm afraid"

"Oh I'm sorry to hear that… I'm sure Ryan will get you in some Cheerios group dance though"

"Yeah… So, since Ryan wants to see the whole cast in like 1 hour at his office, I'm afraid we can't practice our lines together, also because I'd have little to practice anyway"

I can hear her sighing on the phone, then she says: "Oh hey! I just remembered that Ryan told me we're recording 'On My Own' later in the afternoon! You going to be there to support me?"

_Yes yes yes of course I'd love to hear your voice_… "Yes, I'd love to!"

"Good! So see you later at Ryan's office!"

"Wait Lea, isn't it better if I drive you to Ryan's office so we can go together at the recording studios after that?"

"I'm definitely abusing of your car Miss Agron. I won't let it happen again. Or else I'll have to start paying your gas"

"Nonsense. Now I will be picking you up and you'll better be there. I don't like being jilted"

"Oh alright, but I'm bringing the music this time"

"Sounds perfect! See you in half an hour!"

"Thank you Di"

"You're welcome, _gorgeous_" and with that I click "End call".

It just got out of my mouth before I could stop myself. But hey, calling a friend 'gorgeous' is perfectly natural. I'm sure she says that to her girl friends all the time. Especially when she was in her 'kissing girls' phase.

Ok, I need a shower. Cold, preferably.

I go and pick her up. She has her iPod, and she chooses Bruce Springsteen's 'Thunder Road'.

"I just thought that the soundtrack of 'Funny Girl' probably isn't exactly car music"

"I love both. My mum's name is Mary so…" and I let the lyrics play in the background.

_The screen door slams, Mary's dress sways_

_like a vision she dances across the porch_

_as the rady plays, Roy Orbison singing for the lonely_

_Hey that's me and I want you only_

"…so I used to think my dad had written the song to my mum when they got together, but I eventually figured out that it was Bruce Springsteen who sang this song, and that my dad surely wasn't going on tour with the E Street Band"

She's back with her heartly laugh, but I keep my eyes on the street or I might have a car crash.

"I wonder what you were like when you were younger. Were you always this intense and passionate?"

Is this a compliment?

"Well, I guess I was, but at a lower degree. I grew up in Texas and there wasn't much to do there. I lived and enjoyed the small beautiful things that happened to me everyday, with my brother. Everyday was a discovery. We used to play circus in the backyard, I was always a trapeze artist… This all stopped when we moved to live in a hotel because of my dad's job. It was then when I started to read loads of books. Loads. I took dancing classes aswell, and as I grew older I started teaching dance to children."

"What kind of dance?"

"Ballet, jazz, modern and hip hop"

"I'd love to see you dance someday"

I turn to catch a glimpse of her. She's dead serious, her eyes darker than usual, with a… wolfish gleam in them. A shiver is running down my spine and I'm sure my body shook a bit.

God, Dianna, get a grip.

it's not like she said "I'd love to see you naked someday". She just said that she wanted to see me dance. But the way she spoke was unmistakably husky.

Dear Lord give me strength.


	6. Think of unsexy things

**Sorry for the hiatus, but life got in the way.**

**Dianna and Lea are tip-toeing to their first kiss, as they both realize how much they are bound to each other.**

**The scenes I write about in this chapter are the make-out scene between Finn & Quinn, and the scene which eventually got deleted before the airing of the Pilot (if you want to watch it, just type 'glee deleted scene' on YouTube: it's the first result).**

**This is a long one: sorry, but I couldn't really break it in half.**

**I'll update soooooon.**

**Reviews are much appreciated!**

**Thanks for reading.**

**Chapter 6 – Think of unsexy things**

So we finally get to Ryan's office, re-schedule the shootings and the song recordings.

We have a brief lunch with the others, then I go to the recording studio with Chris, Lea, Amber, Kevin, Jenna and Cory, because some of them are recording their own songs, and they will all be practicing for the first time together "Don't Stop Believin" by Journey and "Sit Down You're Rocking The Boat" from Guys and Dolls.

Amber is singing first. They are not recording really: she's just practicing the acapella version of "Respect", and then the version that will appear on the Pilot, with the piano guy (I think he's called Brad), who's playing a simple instrumental track. Kudos to the girl, she's got an amazing voice. It's fierce, and extremely powerful.

Jenna practices her "I Kissed a Girl" by Katy Perry, coming up with this weird idea of performing a crotch karate chop while singing the song on the Pilot: "It will look funny, I swear. They will definitely remember my character after this". It's brilliant, really.

Cory and Chris record their songs, "Can't Fight This Feeling" and "Mr. Cellophane" respectively.

It's Lea's turn now. She sets her headset on, sighing deeply and getting closer to the microphone. She warms up her voice and even by that, I can tell I'm about to go through a mystical experience.

The piano backing track starts playing, she closes her eyes and starts to sing.

_On my own  
>Pretending he's beside me<br>All alone  
>I walk with him till morning<br>Without him  
>I feel his arms around me<br>And when I lose my way I close my eyes  
>And he has found me<em>

_In the rain the pavement shines like silver_  
><em>All the lights are misty in the river<em>  
><em>In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight<em>  
><em>And all I see is him and me forever and forever<em>

Her voice is soft and calm at the beginning, and her soothing melody overwhelms me. It's like being in one of those classic musicals, when the main character enters a smoky club, and suddenly the lights on the stage are dimmed, a background spotlight illuminates the singer's silhouette, and everything else suddenly falls into darkness.

As soon as Lea's voice starts getting increasingly powerful and occasionally wretched, I feel magic soaking my spine. This is nothing I've ever experienced before.

My self-awareness is gone and my mind eye is travelling its own path down a silver pavement, in a dark, rainy and solitary town. It's almost like the New York of the final scene of "Breakfast at Tiffany's". I'm on a Lea-Michele-induced trip: my mind feels almost detached from my body, I close my eyes without even realizing what I'm doing.

_And I know it's only in my mind  
>That I'm talking to myself and not to him<br>And although I know that he is blind  
>Still I say, there's a way for us<em>

_I love him_  
><em>But when the night is over<em>  
><em>He is gone<em>  
><em>The river's just a river<em>  
><em>Without him<em>  
><em>The world around me changes<em>  
><em>The trees are bare and everywhere<em>  
><em>The streets are full of strangers<em>

_I love him_  
><em>But every day I'm learning<em>  
><em>All my life<em>  
><em>I've only been pretending<em>  
><em>Without me<em>  
><em>His world would go on turning<em>  
><em>A world that's full of happiness<em>  
><em>That I have never known<em>

_I love him_  
><em>I love him<em>  
><em>I love him<em>  
><em>But only on my own<em>

By the end of the song, I'm confounded, startled, blow away and any other synonym I can think of.

You know, when I listen to a song I love, I feel incredible, tingling with excitement, and my mind shuts off anything else. But I'm always on the ground, self-aware and in a world of reality.

I didn't know this song so well, and yet her voice has lifted me up and sent me soaring.

The sound guy gestures a thumb up, so she takes off her headset, and she motions towards Brad to thank him.

My feet aren't ready to move yet, so I just turn around, beckon at Jenna and whisper to her ear: "Does she always sing like this?". Jenna chortles and nods briefly, murmuring "I almost fell into a depression the first time I heard her auditioning in Broadway".

Lea is on her full-on chirpy mode: she is bouncing around the place thanking everybody for their amazing job, including the sound guy who looks taken aback, and a bit pleased.

She is such a lovely human being: she can wreck a soul to pieces just by singing a song, and then pull it back together in a blink of an eye just by being her bubbly self.

Lea is getting closer now, and I have to remember to open my mouth to breathe, or I will definitely faint.

* * *

><p>She looks flushed; she was surely into a deep thought, because I can see it growing smaller in her hazel eyes as soon as I approach her.<p>

"I hope you're not getting bored here, we still have to go through two other songs…" I am truly worried she might be, because a glint of concentration furrowed her brows before I walked up to her.

"Bored? There's no way on earth listening to you sing could ever bore me"

She's serious, but her eyes are gleaming and the corner of her mouth is slowly curving up before me.

Amber is moving towards me with Jenna, Cory and Chris.

"Damn girl, that was sweeeeet!"

"I am falling into a depression back again", but she's laughing.

"I adored your rendition of Les Mis's timeless classic!"

"That was incredible Lea! Can I get lessons from you?"

"Sure Cory! Starting tomorrow, 250 bucks per hour!"

"Yeah Lea sure, how about a-HELL NO, forget it was even mentioned"

"Hey, I was on Broadway after all, and rental fees are expensive in LA!"

"Yeah well, I'd rather have you sleep on my couch then"

We're all laughing at this point and I'm starting to truly love these kids.

"Seriously though, guys: do you know anyone who's sub-leasing his room here in LA? Cause my apartment is quite expensive and a room would be more appropriate"

When I first moved here I rented this apartment because I needed some place to stay as soon as possible, and that was the best I found. I didn't even know if the audition for Grey's Anatomy first and then for Glee would go well, so I just went with my guts and rented it.

But now that I'll probably have to wait here in LA until Glee is confirmed as a running tv series, I need a cheaper place.

I've already looked up for other places myself, but the rental fees are cuh-razy here in LA, especially since I haven't worked and hence haven't been paid for a while. And I REALLY don't want to weigh on my parents. Afterall they paid for half of my apartment over in New York, and I'll try to reciprocate as soon as I get some money.

"My flatmate will move back to San Francisco in December, so I'll have a spare room. I could share the rental fees with you"

"Oh! That is fortunate I guess! How much would it be?"

"It's 550 $ per month…"

"Oh! It's quite cheap!"

"Yeah well, I rented it a couple of years ago and they fortunately haven't raised the price yet"

She's grinning broadly. I remember what Jon said about flirting unabashedly with her. Well, I can't right now. I'm sure I'd have a lung failure. Afterall, there will be plenty of time to do that once I move in.

Fuck.

Yeah.

I pat my back internally. And I make a mental note about calling Jon to tell him I'm moving in with Miss Agron.

"When is it okay for me to move in?" I ask.

"Uhm. January I guess!"

It's the end of October, so I will send a lease termination notice for December to the landlady as soon as I get home.

Perfect.

* * *

><p>She's moving in my apartment. She's going to live with me. I'll have her bubbly persona around my living room.<p>

Ryan snaps me out of my trance, saying "Guys, on with the practice for Don't Stop Believin' and Sit Down You're Rocking The Boat. We have a looong afternoon ahead and God knows when we'll be done"

They start practicing. Sit Down You're Rocking The Boat is first. Ryan explains the idea to Jenna, Lea, Kevin, Amber and Chris. They decide which key would suit better Kevin, since he's the lead singer in this number. Jenna, Lea, Amber and Chris practice their back singing, and then they go through all of it together.

The ensemble sounds a bit clumsy, but they're doing it on purpose: there doesn't have to be complete harmony, because it's actually going to be the first time the characters sing together in the Glee club.

They record it after a few repeats, and a few tips from Ryan.

Then they practice Don't Stop Believing on various keys, deciding which fits everybody best, and that one HAS to be perfect, so they will just resume practicing tomorrow morning on the right pitch, while I'll be filming with the cheerleading squad.

When I drive her home, the same hug occurs: except she closes the gap between our hips this time. Quite quickly, actually, so it has me gasping for air as soon as I feel her body fully against mine, so I quickly break the embrace, mutter an embarassed "See you tomorrow" and walk back to my car.

Next morning, I wake up early and have a full breakfast: it's my first day of filming today.

I will be practicing the cheerleading routine with the squad in the morning, film my jumps and then my first scene with Cory in the afternoon, where he will… well, make out with me and touch my buttocks.

A few hours later, I have learned a part of the cheer routine, I have lightly hurt my ankle while falling from the top of the pyramid, I have a new-found respect of cheerleaders and I'm now jumping on a trampoline, with a big camera pointed at me, and thirty people watching what I do, including Ryan of course, Ian, Brad, sound technicians, a guy called "Telly", and lighting cameramen.

With an inner smile, I notice brunette hair, and warm, chocolate brown irises piercing right through me: Lea's there. She's really serious though.

* * *

><p>Dianna is jumping on a trampoline right before my eyes. She's wearing an illegally short and tight cheerleading uniform. The hems of the skirt are wiggling around her thighs as she jumps and jumps and jumps again.<p>

You know, when I'm nervous or not confortable in a situation I tend to get fidgety, fiddle with my fingers and shuffle my feet.

Right now, every move she does makes it excruciatingly painful for me to sit there, steadily settled on my seat behind the camera, and to just watch. I'm gripping the sides of my chair, and my knuckles are turning white with the effort of sitting still.

Ryan Murphy yells "That was our last take, we got it! Thank you Dianna, thank you everybody. Lunch break of half an hour and then back on set!"

We have lunch together with the others, Cory's there aswell. He's fiddling with his cell phone distractedly.

"You know which scene we're filming now, don't you?"

Dianna blushes briefly, then mutters: "Mmh. Make out scene? Yeah"

Oh crap, I forgot that Dianna was filming that scene with Cory today. I gulp my coffee quickly, as if it were a shot of tequila.

"You know, you'll set the pace for that, I don't want to push anything"

I can see Dianna is grateful for that.

I'm grateful aswell. I know Dianna is quite shy, so I'm sure the scene won't be that steamy. I'll be just okay.

Ryan calls our names from the distance and indicates the close building where Dianna and Cory are shooting next. I have nothing to do now actually: I already shot my scenes with Iqbal in the morning (the one where I cry and blame a teacher for pedophiliac behaviour towards a student), so all I have to wait is when they're done with Dianna and Cory, so we can finally film the "tranny prom" scene with Naya and Dianna.

I choose to follow Dianna and Cory to see their scene.

We're currently filming in an indoor set, decorated as Quinn Fabray's house. A portrayal of Jesus hung up on the wall, a white sofa, a fake window with curtains and a lamp on a coffee table. Just enough to get this scene right: "I will scroll the camera from the Jesus painting right to you two, making out on the couch. Cory, lay down, make yourself comfortable. Dianna, lay on top of him. You heard me, Dianna. This is a make out scene, there's no way around it. If you nail it, all we will need is a couple of takes at the most!".

Dianna is fidgety at first. She still is in her cheerleading uniform, she tugs at the hem of her skirt, trying to cover her overly exposed skin just a bit more. Then she finally looks like she's made up her mind about how to do this with Cory.

She lies on top of him, straddling his left leg, and whispers to him: "We have to get this right, or we'll have to lay down on here for hours. So just follow the directions and what was on the script without worrying too much about me. Ok?" "Even though the prospect of laying here all afternoon doesn't sound bad to me, I'll try to get it right. Just kidding, God! I'm not a pervert. You can trust me" he smiles, so she lowers her chest and waits for Ryan to speak.

"Glee, Quinn's living room, night, flashback. Scene 10, take 1!" The clapperboard guy skips around the camera as Ryan yells "Guys, this is pretty simple, you know what to do. We need this scene to be hot, so Dianna be sexy, just give in. And Cory… just go with your guts. Action!"

Dianna lowers her head: she flutters her eyes closed, and her long, long eyelashes are brushing against Cory's cheeks. Her lips barely brush against his for a brief moment, and then she captures Cory's lower lip between her own. They've just started and I'm feeling highly uncomfortable in my… between-my-legs area, down there.

But just when I started to enjoy watching this, lingering my gaze on Dianna's lips, her eyelashes and her thighs… things get steamier that I ever thought possible.

She starts opening her mouth and capturing Cory's lips more eagerly, then she tilts her head to deepen the kiss. This is getting dangerous. I can feel my face heating up, and I can feel dizziness blurring my vision and focusing it on her mouth.

_Help._

Her tongue peeps out occasionally, and my arousal is creeping down my body. I look up to the Jesus painting. I'm praying to someone I don't even believe in. I don't care, I need some help down here.

_HELP._

She angles her hips upwards so that Cory understands that it's the time. He slowly lowers his hand from her hips to her bottom, and grasps her cheek.

I can see the curve of her derrière up her skirt, and I groan inwardly.

_HELP!_

She pulls back from Cory, gets on her knees on the floor and smiles flirtaciously: "Let's pray"

_**HELP!**_

"Cut! Well done Dianna!"

I quickly sit up and stride out of the room. I need air, I need coffee, I need a cold shower and I need to take control over my body.

I sigh deeply. In and out, in and out, just like before a performance. I rest my back against the wall and I try to think of unsexy stuff.

_The time I saw Jon naked by accident in his dressing room, Disney films, the sweat on Cory's face, the car crash I had the day of my audition, fur._

O-kay, I'm starting to get self-aware again, and my body is definitely cooling up. Dianna walks out of the set and towards me.

"Are you ok? I saw you striding out and…"

"Yeah I'm… just fine. Just needed some fresh air"

"Oh, okay. Listen, I need you to give me your opinion"

_I'll give you anythi-_

"Did I over-do it?"

I gape at her. She's incredibly worried of having looked too sexy. Dianna Agron is worried for looking too sexy.

_You are always too sexy. You're too sexy for this planet, actually._

"You did perfectly. It was sexy, hot, and everything it was meant to be."

_Nice choice of words, Lea. Totally subtle._

SHUT UP already! My inner voice is dead annoying.

* * *

><p>She is smiling broadly and suddenly she licks her upper lip – subconsciously, again. It looks like she does it when she's deep in thought. I instantly want to get closer to her lips.<p>

_Oh my goodness, do you want to kiss her? Actually kiss her?_

Her tongue is running against her full upper lip again.

_YES YES YES I do want to kiss her._

This thought fills my head with excitement and doubts: I don't even know her that much, I don't know if she's single, I don't know if she likes me… I don't even know if she's completely straight to begin with, for goodness' sake!

_You don't know if she's straight? Oh sure. How can she be gay? I mean, she basically ravished 5 girls at her Spring Awakening house parties._

This doesn't mean she'd like to have a romantic relationship-

_Romantic relationship? Who are you, Jane Austen?_

I shake my head to clear up my thoughts.

"So. I heard the guys are organizing something for tonight, going clubbing I heard"

Clubbing. That means booze and guys hitting on me.

"Oh are they? I'm not much of a party animal though"

"Me either, but it'd be fun! Don't you like dancing anyway? I'd love to see you dancing!"

She's serious, her lips are slightly parted and her eyes are fixated on my mouth.

"Yeah well… I do like music pounding in my chest and dancing around, but I do hate guys and their lame pick-up lines in clubs"

"Yeah, I totally agree. We can have a guys-free night, we don't need them. I got your back."

"So… How about you? Won't you have any jealous boyfriend there to protect you?" I mutter. I could barely hear myself saying that but apparently Lea caught my words well enough, because she's laughing.

"No, my last relationship ended quite badly. I don't have any jealous boyfriend, thank God. How about you? Any boyfriend to bring around tonight?"

"None. I'm not that into boys right now". Lea's eyebrows are raising and she's apparently amused by what I just said.

_Did you actually just say that?_

"I mean… Mmh. It's not that…". She's smirking.

_It's not that I'm into girls? Well, this one is funny, cause you were thinking about Lea while you were kissing Cory._

"I mean. I don't need boys right now". She's still smirking.

_Do you really think that the last phrase saved you? Cause I'm sure she's having much fun right now. Just look at her smirk._

She's incredibly pleased.

"How about those 5 girls Jenna told me about? Any of them coming around?"

Apparently I hit right. Her smirk disappeared, replaced by blushed cheeks and a half-smile.

"No, it was just a stupid drunken game. I didn't really like them. I was just... curious"

"Curious?"

She takes her courage in both hands and blurts out: "Well, I was on Broadway all the way through my teen age years, surrounded by straight, bisexual and gay girls and guys. It was pretty normal and usual to experiment one's sexuality, and I had some questions that needed answers"

"And you found those answers you were looking for, right then?"

"No. But I recently have"

And with that, she walks away with an extra sway in her hips, I can tell.

So I seize her wrist firmly from behind and swing her around her feet.

"About tonight… I'm going. Picking you up at half 9?"

I'm panting heavy against her face.

_Get it together, Dianna._

She's a bit startled, I can tell. She wanted to stride sensationally out of here, and I broke it. Good.

"Mmh. Yeah, ok, thanks. How are you going to dress up? Dressy or casual?"

I get close to her ear. I feel a tingling sensation creeping down my spine from being so close to her. I can feel the intense heat radiating from her body. I whisper: "Definitely something sexy"

Now it's my time to raise my eyebrow, smirk, and walk away, reveling in satisfaction. With an extra sway in my hips.

* * *

><p><em>Think of un-sexy things. Come on Lea, cooperate!<em>

Mmh what?

_Stop staring at her ass._

Mmmmherass. What?

_Pull yourself together, you pervert._

Pervert? I'm not a pervert. I'm interested and observant. And her back looks sooo sexy in that cheerleading uniform.

_Oh I give up. Go on, you sicko._

Thank you. I may now continue.

Oh shit. She just turned around to see me staring. Her devilish smirk is back on her perfect lips. I pull myself together and walk to my next set.

Which happens to be the bathroom scene. With Naya. And Dianna. In her cheerleading uniform.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT" I mutter, while walking to the bathroom and getting my make up done again.

"What's wrong Lea?"

Oh fantastic. Naya is walking towards me, with her brows furrowed in concern.

I fake a smile and pretend.

"Nothing, just nervous for the next scene"

"Oh, come on Lea! You are perfectly fine with showing your tits to the audience every night for three long years, but you're afraid of this scene? Of me insulting you?"

Oh. How does she know about this?

"How do you kno-"

"I loooved the videos on YouTube. You and that sweet-looking guy gettin' it on"

She's laughing, which is positive… I guess?

"Yeah well, it's not _you_ insulting me I'm worried about"

"What, then?"

"Well… Dianna" That single word peters out, as though it could explain what I'm going through right now. Well, it actually can.

"Dianna? She's the nicest person on earth! How can you be worried about her? She'll probably buy you dinner after she calls you names, anyway"

"O-kay"

_She's coming and picking you up tonight actually._

Which brings to my mind… "Oh! Do you know who's coming tonight?"

"Clubbing? Uhm. Mark, me, Jenna and that's it for now. You up to it?"

"Yeah… Dianna is coming aswell"

"Great! Mark will be reveling in bliss, with all these girls"

"Yeah…"

Naya walks away to get her make-up done.

"_I'm not that into boys right now"_

The phrase is still echoing in my mind, when Dianna walks by me, turns around with a smile on her lips, and winks. She's not being flirtatious though. Her eyes are kind, and she's gesturing a thumbs-up: this is calming me down.

I seize the can of hairspray and I walk to stand in front of the sink. Naya and Dianna stride inside the bathroom stalls, giggling to some joke I didn't catch.

The clapperboard guy yells: "Glee, McKinley's bathrooms, daytime. Scene 11, take 1" and then skips behind the camera. Ryan yells "ACTION!", and we're on.

I spray my hairspray dramatically all around my head, as Dianna and Naya walk out of the bathroom stalls.

"Getting ready for the tranny prom, Rachel?"

Her voice was too soft, I can tell.

"Cut! Dianna, you have to sound like she disgusts you, not like you want to take her home for a slumber party. Get back inside the stalls, let's start again. Take 2. Action!"

I spray my hair again, staring at my own image in the mirror. I can see Dianna getting closer and leaning against the sink next to me. Her voice gets a higher pitch as she says "Getting ready for the tranny prom, Rachel?". Her gaze shifts between my sweather and my skirt, then smirks with her lips parted and her eyebrow lifted.

How can you be turned on by this?

_Well, I mean… Hello? It's Dianna, with parted lips and her eyebrow raised. How can you NOT be turned on by this?_

Ok, but get a grip Lea. The scene is getting to an end and you have to pout and feel alone.

"Cut! Perfect, girls! We're done for today!"

I finally breathe out, and start walking to the make-up stalls to wipe my face clean: that lipstick was really unnecessary.

I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder and I shiver with the awareness that it's Dianna. She stoops a bit as she looks at me in the mirror, and she whispers: "Picking you up at half 9, ok?"

I nod quickly and she asks: "Who's coming anyway?"

"Naya, Mark, Jenna, you and I"

"Nice! We're going to have so much fun!" She claps her hand together and squeals as she walks away.

That squeal! I am in awe.


	7. Tequila Sunrise

**I loved writing this chapter. It took a while, but it's eleven pages of Achele fluff. **

**(The dirty will come aswell, don't you fear. I just have to build a nice background before they get it on ;) )**

**Time to get to know eachother for Lea and Dianna, time for sharing stories and experiences.**

**JGroff and drunk!Lea are in this chapter!**

**I'd love to hear what you think of this, and if you have any suggestion! **

**Chapter 7 – Tequila Sunrise**

Knock-knock.

Oh shit. I quickly slip my high-heeled stilettos on, and I run to the door.

Oh shit. She definitely wasn't kidding when she said she would wear something sexy.

Light blue sleeveless button-down blouse, black pencil skirt, short enough for me to linger my gaze there, worshiping her thighs, and black wedge-heeled shoes.

Her blonde hair are falling on her shoulders in messy waves of sunshine.

"Hi Lea! Are you ready?"

She startles me out of my daze, and I mumble an unclear "Yeah… Yeah", before shutting the front door.

Before I realize it, she's grabbed my hand and she's trotting down the stairs of my flat. As we step outside, still hand in hand, a cool breeze washes over my face. I'm thankful for the tipical LA weather, or else I wouldn't be able to go out with just my leather jacket on. Not to mention that I really could use some cool, invigorating air right now.

"How did you like today?"

Her drop-dead-gorgeous smile is sending me back to an hypnotic state.

_For the love of all that's holy, Lea! Try and keep up a conversation, will you? _

Ok, ok, ok, but you've got to understand me. I mean like… it's Dianna Agron. I'll try.

"I loved it! I got to cry a lot in today's scene with Iqbal!"

She looks adorably confused.

"…I love crying on demand!"

"You do?"

"It's… refreshing. You think about all the frustration and bad feelings you've ever felt in your life, and channel it until tears come streaming down your face"

"Wow. That makes me think of Coldplay!"

"Ha! Didn't even notice I was quoting Chris Martin"

Her smile falters a little, and she shifts her gaze to look at her feet. She slowly sways on her feet a little, before she tilts her head to look up.

"Oh – my – goddness. Look up!"

I lift my gaze up, to stare at the pitch-dark expanse that is the sky right now: stars are glistening against the blackness, the moon is partly obscured by a grey cloud. It looks beautiful.

"It's breathtaking"

"I know… It's like Chris Martin listened to our conversation and pulled his strings up there, somehow"

I don't think I understood that.

"What do you mean?"

"Well…", she gets close to me, and whispers, like a child telling a secret: "_Look at the stars, look how the shine for you, and everything you do, yeah, they were all yellow_"

Our eyes lock. I feel that cosmic pull, that incredible magnetism that I feel everytime I look at Dianna. I see my destiny somewhere in her hazel, light brown-specked irises.

I feel my chest tightening around my heart, warmth spreading through my body and a wave of affection for her.

"Tell me more about you" I mumble out.

"Uhm what should I tell you about?"

"Like… what you like, your interests, your what cheers you up when you're sad. I- I mean, we'll be roommates in 2 months... I just want to get to know you better. "

"Well, let's just get in my car and we'll speak as we go"

She smiles, as we get inside her car: she turns on the ignition. Off we go.

"Ok, I actually have a precise question. What do you like to do in your spare time?"

"I love cooking, spending time outdoors, reading, taking pictures, and spending time with my family and friends"

"Who are your closest friends?"

"Millie and Marisa. Millie is my roommate right now, she's the one moving out in December… who are yours?"

"Jonathan Groff is my best friend. We met during the auditions for Spring Awakening and been close ever since. He's the one who introduced me to Glee!"

My phone starts belting out "My Man", and I know right away who's calling. It makes me laugh everytime I hear it: Jon set up that song as his personal ringtone, that egomaniacal brat.

Shit. Seriously Jon, out off all moments you could've called me… You chose right now?

"I'm sorry, I'll just reject it…"

"No! Go on and answer. Might be important!"

Okay.

"Hey Jon! Your timing hurts like a hangover"

I hear Dianna laughing beside me, and not just chuckling. She's 'hehehe' giggling, which I usually hate on other people, but the innocent way she pulls it off is so heartwarming I can't not love it.

"Hi Lea! I love you and your honeyed words. How are things?"

"They are just fine, thank you. How are you?"

"I'm under the impression you're not alone there, and I can hear the traffic. Are you in a car with someone?"

"Mind like a laser, Jon."

Dianna is 'hehehe'-ing again. Such an enchanting melody.

"Will you stop being a smart-ass and tell me who you are with? I'm getting jealous over here, mum"

'Mum' and 'Dad' are Jon and mine's way of addressing to eachother: the guys in Spring Awakening called us the 'parents' of the cast because we were the lead characters in the show and still so close in real life, so we started calling eachother 'mum' and 'dad' aswell.

Obviously it always raises some eyebrows, since we look the exact same age.

"Dad, I'm currently with Dianna in her car…"

"SHIT LEA ARE YOU DOING THE DIRTY ALREADY?"

He screamed the last sentence in my ears, and I'm sure Dianna could hear some of it.

"Shut up, Jon! We are driving to a club, we're meeting the other Gleeks there"

"Oh. Okay then! Are you going to drink tonight?"

"I don't know. I'm not the designated driver tonight so…"

I glance at Dianna: her eyes are on the street, but the corner of her lips is curving up.

"So you will definitely drink. Can I please speak with Miss Dianna Agron, please?"

"No way. Dianna's driving. She can't"

At this point, Dianna asks: "What can't I do?"

"You can't speak to Jon, you're driving right now"

"But we've just arrived! I just need to pull over and park"

Jon jumps in at this point, and says "Perfect! I'm waiting"

"Jon! What got into your head, what are you going to tell her?"

Dianna has just parked and gestures for my phone. SHIT.

I sigh, and hand her my phone.

* * *

><p>This Jon sounds funny.<p>

"Hi Jon! Nice to speak to you! I've heard a lot about you"

"Hi Dianna! Heard a lot about you myself…"

There's a long pause, I don't know why though.

"So… what did you want to tell me?"

"Ok, listen Dianna. Lea is normally a very bubbly person around people she knows."

"Yeah…"

"Tonight, she might want to add alcohol to that"

"Oh"

"Exactly. She usually gets very touchy-feely when she's high: she's adorable, but she gets also very gullible, so… please take care of her"

"Of course. I will, Jon"

"Thank you Dianna, I know I can trust you. Have a fun night!"

"You too Jon!"

I hand the phone back to Lea, who is looking at me questioningly.

"What? What did he say? Did he say something about me?"

"Calm down, Lea! He was very sweet. He said…"

"What, what did he say?"

"He said that when you're drunk you get touchy-feely and excessively bubbly. He asked me to take care of you tonight. And I said yes, of course"

"That's- that's not true, I'm just lively and affectionate with the people I love, that's all! He's such a drama queen…" She's said that almost petulantly, and that makes me laugh.

"I think it was sweet of him to make sure you'd be safe. He sounded like a dad being protective toward her teenage daughter going on a date"

"That's why we call eachother 'mum' and 'dad'! The Spring Awakening guys made that up…"

She apparently didn't catch the 'going on a date' part.

She's saying something about a taxi driver asking Jon if he really is her father.

I lock my gaze with hers: her warm, chocolate-brown eyes are twinkling with amusement, and finally she's being bubbly around me. Does that mean she's finally at her ease around me enough to be herself? I hope so.

She's 'hahaha' chortling, and she looks adorable, full of passion and _alive_.

"We're like that, Jon and I…"

'Jon and I'. She's accurate with her grammar. I'm free-falling for her.

"…We love and support eachother, we quote Will & Grace, we secretly think we're Will & Grace, we watch the L Word together, we insult eachother when we feel like it… I love what we have"

_You're jealous, I can feel it._

No I'm not!

_Your chest is tightening, warmth is spreading all over your face, and you feel a wave of affection for her. Either you're jealous or… falling in love._

Well…

You know what? I know we've known eachother for like… literally 3 days.

I always thought that love at first sight was a silly thing, something you'd flail over when seen in a movie or listened in a song or read in a book, something you'd like to experience yourself if we were in some kind of parallel, fairytale universe where everything is perfect, everyone is beautiful and trustworthy, and life doesn't get in the way.

I could never see how people would fall over a person from just one look: from just a glance, they could tell their destinies were somehow entangled, and through a few words, they'd understand eachother at such a deep level, to be able to call it love.

I took my time to fall in love with my former three boyfriends. It always took time, painful, trust-building conversations, frightening occasions in which I just had to rely on that somebody or finally give up, heart-breaking realizations, and late-night confessions.

But with Lea… it just locked into place.

It's like for all of my life, I've always found the wrong key, but somehow managed to make it fit thanks to pain and effort… and then I found Lea, this unique, perfect key who fitted into place, with no need for hurtful confessions or scarily deep conversations.

As soon as my eyes locked with hers for the first time, when she stumbled across me and lifted her gaze to meet mine… I knew it felt right, it just clicked. And then everything from that moment on is just proving me that I was right, I fell in love with her.

I guess you can't believe in love at first sight until it just happens to you.

* * *

><p>I've been talking for a while now, it's hard to stop once I start. She looks puzzled and concerned: her brow is adoringly furrowed, her lips are pursed and her head just tilted a little.<p>

"Are you alright? Did I wear you out with the chronicles of JGroff and LMichele?"

It sounds catchy. I should tell Jon that.

She's 'hehehe'-ing again. I hope my expression is not too goofy or blatantly adoring right now.

"No, Lea. You could never bore me, I already told you that!"

"Oh, okay. Back to my random questions about you!" I say, clapping my hands with satisfaction.

"You know… we might want to go to the club somewhen in the evening, you know"

She smiles. I always remark this, I know it's annoying… but there's something incredible and sensational about her smile. It creates this halo of magic around her figure, I just can't help but grin widely.

And, I must add, I forgot we had to meet the others.

"Oh. Yeah, the club. Sure"

As we get off the car, finally I become aware of what's surrounding me. The stars in the sky are no more visible, due to city lights, cars are roaring by us, with unnecessary high beams on, the neon signs are shining brightly with their colourful words, like 'Sunset Strip Tattoo' or '8730 Sunset Towers', heavily floodlit billboards with photoshoots of models and famous fashion brands, and traffic lights are directing the waves of cars passing by.

We're on Sunset Boulevard, and it looks a bit like Times Square, if you exclude the crowds of people, the Naked Cowboy, those changing billboards, adverts of new musicals, and the tall skyscrapers walling the square.

Here the buildings are much lower, the spaces are larger, the streets are vast, so that the general view leaves the watcher with an undefinite sense of freedom.

"Do you like LA?"

"I'm slowly falling in love with it"

My gaze shifts back to Dianna. Her eyes are bright and humorous, like the two parenthesis in the corners of her mouth, which seem to deepen when she smiles, which happens a lot, apparently. Her honeyed irises are always intense, glinting with a luster I can't quite decipher, like she's holding back a funny joke or a deep thought.

She has one of those faces where the eyes are the first features that get your attention, and her dimples would be just the second thing you'd notice, as they corner gracefully both her gaze and her mouth.

She's beautiful, classy and sexy altogether, in a way that could compare to Audrey Hepburn or one of those classic 50's actresses, the ones who said things like 'golly gee' or 'thumping bore'. I can see Dianna saying things like that.

As we stride over the boardwalk down Sunset Boulevard to reach the club, the words she said earlier suddenly pop in my head.

"You said you like to read… what are your favourite books?"

"'Alice in Wonderland', 'The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe', and anything by Rohal Dahl..."

"So you like fantasy novels!"

"Well, not only. Those two are the one I grew up reading and re-reading again… I liked the fantasy world they described and the way they got away from reality was somehow… soothing for me"

"Why?"

"When I was a teenager, I was going through… let's say what you'd call a 'bad time'. So I ran away from it watching classic movies and reading books"

She shrugs and asks: "What are yours?"

"I've always loved 'The Giving Tree', which is a children's book actually… but the story is very touching. Then 'The Girl with the Pearl Earring'"

"So historical novels!"

"Yes… I love the drama of them! Favourite movie?"

"Tough call! Mmh. 'Amèlie', which is a French movie about a shy waitress in Montmartre, Paris, who decides to change the lives of the people around her for the better, while struggling with her own loneliness… But also old movies like 'Breakfast at Tiffany's', and musicals like 'Funny Girl' or 'Singin' in the Rain'"

'Funny Girl'… I think I found my soulmate.

"What are yours?"

"Well… if we want to exclude all of Barbra Streisand's masterpieces, I'd have to say… 'Almost Famous', 'West Side Story', 'Funny Face'… well, don't get me started!"

"No way! I love Audrey Hepburn!" she says, almost squealing, as she wait in line to get inside the Avalon, which is the club Naya selected for tonight.

As the big, black bouncers let us in, Dianna seizes my hand and we make our way through the crowd, towards the bar where Mark, Naya and Jenna are chatting vividly.

"Heeeey girls! We were just talking about you!"

"Hi Naya, hi Jenna, hello Mark!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm getting you an Invisible, Lea, you look too sober"

"Mark, what's an Invisible?"

"It's a drink, called 'invisible' because it's see-through, made with tequila, gin, triple sec and vodka, in equal proportions. It's the shit"

"I'm sure it's really good but I'm drunk already, just by listening to its ingredients" I say, as I shake my head vigorously.

"Then have a Tequila Sunrise!"

"That sounds more like it!" and I order one to the bartender.

"Dianna what are you drinking?"

"Nothing, Jenna, I'm afraid. I'm the designated driver"

"Oh that's alright, I'm the designated driver aswell, yay! Let's revel in our soberness!"

As we all laugh cheerfully, the bartender hands me my tequila and I start drinking.

* * *

><p>As Lea gulps her tequila like a sailor, I start to understand why Jon was worried she might get drunk.<p>

Naya and Mark, as soon as they put their empty glasses down, make their way towards the dancefloor with Jenna. So I seize Lea's hand again, for the third time tonight, and drag her along.

We get into the massive area of the nightclub where the music basically consists of a thumping drum and bass, and make our way through the crowd, looking for Mark, Naya and Jenna.

The room is dark, with neon lights flashing in different directions, but mainly towards a stage where the dj set is located.

I finally get a glimpse of Mark's mohawk in the crowd, so I forcefully push some people away from my path and drag Lea along.

I take a moment to get my sight adjusted to the quick flashing of lights and to the extremely loud music, and I eventually start dancing with the others.

Lea looks a bit flushed, her heavy eyelids keep fluttering and a huge grin is now plastered on her face. She looks adorable, just like Jon said.

I realize I'm still holding Lea's hand, so I release it, but as soon as I do, I feel Lea's delicate fingers intertwining mine, squeezing meaningfully.

She gets close to my cheek and yells into my ear: "You're sooo nice, you know that?"

Her words are a bit slurring, but not in that vulgar, hateful way I've always heard in guys: she sounds dead cute.

She's obviously dizzy, so I try and push my luck.

"You're lovely Lea, I love spending time with you"

At that point she backs away a bit, she looks into my eyes carefully, as if searching for any signs of mocking. I hold my serious gaze intentively, arching my eyebrow a bit.

Then her poker-face falters a little, and she licks her lips subconsciously, her gaze fixated on my mouth, and then back on my eyes. Her eyes flicker in their sockets, making her vision judder one last time, and coming back into focus. She smirks viciously and suddenly she tugs at my hand and spins me around, so I end up with my back pressed fully against her front, her right hand laced with mine, flat on my stomach. She croons into my ear the words of the song blasting out, a remix of "Starchild" by Jamiroquai, while her hips are slowly, sexily swaying behind me.

This is heaven. I must have just died and this is what paradise feels like, because I'm quite sure this experience is not earthly.

Her hips barely brush against my back as her left hand shuffles my hair away from the nape of my neck, her head tilts back, and I can feel her breathing hard against my scruff.

* * *

><p>This is the most beautiful view I'll ever get to watch, and… shit, my head is spinning, either because of alcohol or because of the goddess standing in front of me.<p>

The sight of her bare, slender, creamy, oh-please-kiss-me perfect neck before me is too much.

I can't not worship this spot.

There are nearly three hundred people around us but, hell, I don't care.

I breathe hard against the back of her neck, and I can feel her stomach muscles writhing a bit against my hand.

I close the gap between my mouth and her neck, and I kiss it lightly, just a peck on the protruding vertebra at the base of her nape.

I'm sure I just heard her whimper.

My head is reeling, now clearly because of her sweet Chloè perfume devastating my senses.

I tug at her right hand, spinning her around quickly until my front is fully pressed against hers.

I wrench her arms until they rest on my shoulders, leaving them there, dangling around my neck.

I rest my arms lazily around her low back.

We dance together like two jellyfishes underwater, sssslooowly and swaying lazily.

It's another Tequila Sunrise, starin' ssslooowly 'cross the sssssky.

Alcohol, alcohol, alcohoooool.

Shit I'm getting stoned.

* * *

><p>She looks stoned.<p>

And she just kissed my nape. Shudders of elation creep up my spine remembering it. That felt intimate, and so, so perfect. I know she's pissed, but still.

Marks approaches me and yells into my ear: "Okay, first, that's hot. Second, how's our Edith Piaf over here?"

I laugh out loud, a bit embarassed. I decide I'd better just rest my left arm around her shoulder, wrapping her in a side-hug and dance with the others aswell.

Jenna eyes Lea and doubles up laughing: "Oh dear, just like the old days!"

I find nothing funny about this actually. I tend to agonize when somebody gets hammered because I always contemplate about all the dangerous situations that might lead to.

But God, I really need to relax, don't I?

I mean, Lea is right beside me, there's nothing bad that could happen right now. I'm protecting her tonight.

"Lea, are you okay? Are you having fun?"

"You're beautiful, Dianna! You're soo beautiful!"

I might start to enjoy this.

As we dance the night away, I can see self-consciousness slowly sinking in Lea's expression, and I loosen up. My arm is still around her shoulder, and as I daze over her warm, sweet eyes, I feel a wave of fondness for her, and I pull her in for a hug, squealing in excitement, unable to stop grinning with the novelty of it all.

With Lea in my arms, I finally make up my mind: I need to go out with her. Only the two of us this time. I'll plan that as soon as I go home.

As the night slowly blurs in the small hours of the morning, Mark suggests we should leave before the place is crammed with stoned 40 year olds.

He's right, we all nod and make our way through a mosh pit to reach the exit.

"I had a fun night guys! We should go out more often, with the others aswell! Maybe in a quieter place"

"Yeah Naya, we should! Bye everybody, I have to put this tipsy lady to bed!" I say, as I support Lea with my arm laced in hers, walking to my car.

"Dianna, you're so tantalizing, you know that? Ppfff, 'course you know that. How does it feel to look at yoself in the morrrning, and look so perrrfect? Bet that's a hell of a start of the day"

I'm flattered, but I feel like laughing out loud because of her slurring cuteness, but I'm sure it wouldn't help, so I just play along.

"You're sexy aswell Lea! Don't you know that?"

"Nononorononorono. I maaaay be good-looking, but you're a freakin' goddess!"

I chortle a bit and shake my head, as I open the passenger's door to let her in. She considers the car from outside for a moment, looks confused for a second, her brows cutely furrowed, and her plump lips pouting a little.

"Where we going, Diannnnna?"

I take her hand and lead her inside, fastening her seatbelt. The proximity has me fighting for oxygen, as she gasps loudly in my ear.

"I'm going to drive us both to my apartment."

I get into my seat, turn the ignition on, and look at her.

"I don't want you to be home alone tonight, since I won't be able to look after you there"

She is still confused.

"If you get sick at night, I'll never forgive myself for not being there helping you out. I promised this to Jon"

"Are you suuure? I don't want you to feel like you have to! You can drop me home and I'll stay awake until it wearrrs off, I p'omise!"

"Lea, I don't feel like I have to, I feel like I want to. I want to take care of you tonight. Well, this morning. And I feel like Jon would fly to LA tomorrow morning to organize my funeral if he found out that I didn't keep her 'daughter' safe"

I smile tentatively, she suddenly looks like she understands, and licks her lips subconsciously.

We drive in utter silence, I park my car, go and retrieve her from the passenger's seat. I offer my hand as she steps off the car, support her carefully with my arm around her tiny, minute waist, take the lift and walk towards the door of my apartment.

Once inside, I shut the door, throw the keys somewhere on the black leather couch of my little living room.

She looks around my apartment, with an expression I can't quite decipher.

I startle her out of her daze clapping my hands.

"SO! I'll sleep in my roommate's bed, since she's spending the weekend away in San Francisco with her family, and you'll sleep in mine, because it's a double-sized bed"

"Oh." She smirks suddenly, and mouths a silent 'okay'.

She looks dangerous, with that vicious smirk plastered across her face.

Dangerous and… deliriously sexy.

She wriggles out of her leather jacket, pushing her shoulders back and her chest forward in that way that we girls do without realizing the ache we cause. My brother once told me that. I fully understand now. I understand and agree.

I walk her to my – her, for tonight – bedroom and show her the bed.

"Where can I drop my clothes?" She speaks with that fierce smirk still on her full, plump lips which look a bit more puffed out and purple that usual, probably because of the alcohol.

"Uhm. Wherever you want! I'll- I'll retrieve something confortable you can wear to sleep"

"Okay m'lady"

Still that smug smile. Does she think she's getting laid tonight, or something?

_Not that I would mind._

Oh, listen to yourself. Okay, clothes.

I turn my back to Lea to open my closet and grab an old Audrey Hepburn t-shirt my mum bought me in a vintage shop back in San Francisco, and a pair of skinny blue training pants I used to wear for dance practice.

I turn around and hand them to Lea.

"Where can I get changed?"

"Uh. Here, I'll go and get you some water"

She grabs my wrist as I walk out of the door, tugs at it until I turn around, pulls me until we are face to face, inches separating our mouths, and she looks at me intently in the eyes.

Her heartwarming gaze is so doting and intent I find myself wondering if I might have something on my face. I've never had the chance to study her sultry eyes from this close: her chocolate-brown irises actually have darker streaks banding them, all around the pupil.

Her gaze shifts between my eyes and my mouth – yes I did notice.

We're inches apart, breathing the same air, feeding off eachother's breath and I can barely control myself, but I have to, if not because she's still tipsy. Even though the spark in her eyes looks extremely sober.

"Thank you Dianna, I really appreciate everything you're doing for me. I'll reciprocate one day, I promise"

I shrug and allow myself to back away a bit from her tantalizing lips.

"It's nothing, Lea, really. I'm happy to spend time with you… and to take care of you"

She lets go of my wrist so I go and grab a bottle of water at room temperature for her in the cupboard. I linger in the living room, waiting for her to be ready.

Finally I knock on my bedroom's door: "Are you decent? Can I come in?"

"Come in!"

I open the door to stare at the beauty of Lea Michele.

Her hair are messily falling on her shoulders, her chest looks minute in my large t-shirt, and her legs look really long for such a tiny body.

"Here's the water. Do you need any toiletries? I have a spare toothbrush – never used – and tooth paste, you can use my make-up wipes, and I have clean towels in the bathroom"

I blurted out all of this without even taking a breath, trying to hide the fact that I'm quite turned on by the view before me.

She smiles cheerfully and walks before me into the bath saying 'thank you' as I indicate to her all of the articles she might use.

I take a quick glance at her bottom. Shit, it's perfect.

I leave her alone in the bathroom, closing the door as I get inside my bedroom, and I lie on my bed, feeling rather excited: I will ask Lea Michele out.

* * *

><p>Once I find myself alone in the bathroom, I stand before the sink and mirror, press two fingers against each eye and attempt to account for the arousal creeping through my body while I think of the sight of her, in her blouse and pencil skirt, with her neck exposed before me… but I'm having trouble with rational thought.<p>

I actually _kissed_ her nape, didn't I? A vision pops in my head instantly, showing her slender neck, and her protruding vertebra. I remember feeling her abs writhing underneath my touch.

I put my arms around her waist and swayed with her. And I probably blabbed about something really embarassing I can't quite recall at the moment.

But that's what friends do, right?

They hug, and hold hands, and – Oh shit.

I called her 'beautiful' and 'sexy'. I recall it now.

Friends do that too, right? Yeah, they do! That I am sure of.

_Yeah, and they kiss eachother's neck._

That was pure affection.

_And surely they writhe under eachother's touch._

Not my fault.

_Then she definitely considers you as more than a friend._

Oh, shut up.

I don't want to be delusional about this. I love what we have right now. She's so pure, intelligent, caring and interesting… I can't screw this up. I can't scare her away suggesting we could be something more. It's been just 3 days and I'm already addicted to her. I can't lose her.

Not to mention it would be super awkward, since I'm moving in with her in two months precisely.

I was just about to lose control in her bedroom, before she went to get me the water. I was inches away from kissing her. Good thing I thought better of it.

I, Lea Michele Sarfati, will not act upon my feelings for Dianna Agron, I swear!

I wipe my face clean, brush my teeth and splash cold water to my face, to finally regain a bit of self-consciousness and dignity that had disappeared as I gulped my tequila.

All proud of myself and of my life choices, I open the door of the bathroom and walk in Dianna's bedroom.

As soon as I look up, all of my plans go down the tubes.

A wild Dianna appears in my visual field: she's in a large, white t-shirt, with 'The Hives' stamped in black all across the back, and in black short shorts. Her hair is messy, she probably laid in bed. Those shorts are… really short. Her thighs are on full exposure. Those shorts are also really tight. Her ass is staring up at me, while she's rummaging in one of her drawers.

_Sweet mother of Jesus come and help me._

I gulp, clear my throat and shuffle my feet a bit, to announce myself.

She quickly spins around on the balls of her feet and jumps up, tugging at the hem of her shorts, just like she did with her cheerleading skirt.

How on earth can she be this cute and hot as hell all at the same time? I really don't understand.

She combs through her hair with her hand, and says: "I was just looking for a blanket. It can be quite cold at night, I mean… we're in November"

"Did you find it?"

"Well… no. I guess I forgot where I put it last winter"

She shrugs, smiling tentatively.

I sit on her bed, and pat my hand down beside me, just like she did the first day we met.

She sits beside me, with an uncertain expression on her face.

"You don't have to, you know… sleep in the other bed"

She lifts both of her eyebrows and her jaw is now hanging slack, bobbing lightly: she's trying to say something, but nothing comes out.

"I mean, it's cold. None of us have a blanket. I just thought we could warm eachother up"

I let the last ambiguous sentence echo in the room intently.

That double-entendre was totally intended, by the way. I'm testing the waters, seeing how far I can go with this before it gets blatantly obvious.

She's still gaping at what I said, so I get a tiny bit embarassed… maybe she really doesn't want to sleep beside me.

"…or we might just lie rigid in awkwardness, you know"

I smile tentatively, still no answer from Dianna.

"… Or, I could just shut up so you can go to your own bed, shouldn't I? I'm still sorry about this, Dianna, I didn't really want to ruin your night"

I pat my hand on hers, wish her good night as I shift closer to the pillow, lying on my back.

At that point, Dianna whips around, crawls up to the bedstead, just beside me, and lies down.

"Okay, first: you didn't ruin your night, you made it better. I always enjoy spending my time with you, I don't know how many times more I will need to tell you this before you start believing it. Second, having you here is the best thing that's happened to me in a while, you always manage to brighten up my day. Third, it's more than okay for me to… warm you up, as you put it" At this point she turns on her right side to fully face me. She's smirking smugly.

We're still not under the covers, so I take a moment to appreciate her slender figure.

I linger my gaze on the left side of her chest, where her thin white t-shirt reveals a black tattoo on her ribs.

"You have a tattoo?"

"Was that a question?" She's smirking.

Fuck.

"Mhh. That was a sheer assertion. What is it?"

"It's a phrase, out of a nursery rhyme. One of my nicknames when I was a kid was 'lamb' or 'little lamb' and when I found out about this little song, which says 'Mary had a little lamb'… I just thought about my mum – you know, she's called Mary…"

"I do remember"

"… Yeah, so… since my mum and I are really close, I tattooed this sentence on my ribs. It always reminds me of my childhood"

She smiles peacefully.

"What was it like?"

"What?"

"Your childhood, what was it like?"

"Oh! I lived in my own fantasy world, with my brother. We would play pretend between the trees around the house, with Caber, our dog: I was a trapeze artist, my brother was the circus tamer, and the dog was the lion. Sometimes we varied circus positions. Our playset helped me believe that we were living in the wilderness. I read, and read, and read Rohal Dahl and fantasy novels for hours, getting lost in the make-believe worlds they created. I always sneaked in my dad's car to listen to his music"

At this point her day-dreaming expression turns into a sad little smile.

"I danced, I wrote my stupid silly thoughts, and pretended I was Lucille Ball or Audrey Hepburn, or a combination of the two… I loved their grace"

She slowly gets out of her reverie: I wait and linger my gaze on her gorgeous face to watch the beautiful reshaping of her smile and intent eyes on me.

"What was yours like?"

"I was a normal kid until I was 8, I guess. That year a friend of mine wanted to audition for Les Miz in Broadway, so I went along with her. I ended up auditioning aswell, and… I got the part and she didn't. That started a whole different era of my life. A theatre is a quite big place when you're 8, and that kind of intense experience can easily scare you away. But theatre, that drama, that fantasy world, that expressing through music… it was the air I breathed everyday. And I loved it. I loved being in the spotlight, I loved the applause at the end of the shows, I loved the cracking sound of my steps on the wooden stage. Ultimately, it was not about feeding my ego. It was about giving _that_ something to people. That emotion, that thrill I felt everyday before walking on the wooden stage. I loved repeating the same lines over and over again, for different audiences and to elicit different responses from people. It was, and still is, just like all art, a flux of passion from one human being to another, and back. And it's just so intimate, so personal, so special… I live for it"

* * *

><p>Her drive, her ambition are larger than life and unapologetic: I love this about her.<p>

God, I love everything about her.

"That's quite amazing"

I eye the gap between our bodies and shift her gaze up on her eyes again.

"Do you mind if I… shift closer?"

She smiles shyly and shakes her head slowly.

"…You know, I was not… warm enough" I mutter, smiling.

She moves her head a little, so it's rested in the crook of my neck.

Our bodies are still apart, and I don't trust my hormones enough to close the gap. This already feels perfect and intimate altogether.

I can feel her grinning against my skin, and I grin aswell, unable to recall a time I've ever felt this happy.

"I think it's about time we sleep, Lea"

"Huh-huh" she mumbles, nodding against my neck.

I look outside the window of my room, seeing the timid light of dawn.

"Goodnight, Lea. Or better, goodmorning"

"Goodmornight, Dianna"

This flawless human being.


	8. Golly gee damn!

**Hey guys!**

**I just want to thank you for the HUGE comeback I've had for the last chapter. I really loved writing it, and I think it's the best chapter I've written yet. So I was really hoping you'd like it aswell.**

**I want to thank Sah (anonymous reviewer) who suggested I should put this under the Quinn/Rachel pairing, I wouldn't have had such huge hit numbers without that. **

**Also, thanks to: Perla, becaseyouscareme, LeaderOfTheFreeWorld, gaby2angel, sillysah, end-ski, for taking your time to review this story!**

**If you were wondering, this is obviously set in 2008 (October in the first 6 chapters, November in chapters 7 and 8), because that's when they officially started shooting Glee. **

**Aaaand off we go.**

**Chapter 8 – Golly Gee Damn!**

Shit, my head hurts.

I've not opened my eyes, yet.

I try to reach out for the alarm clock on my bedstand, except… I suddenly realize that my hand is trapped somewhere.

I crack my eyes open, but my vision is blurred.

My cheek is against someone's back.

SHIT WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO LAST NIGHT?

I might have been drunk but I'm confident I wasn't _that_ trashed.

As the person in front of me shifts a little, still asleep, a lock of blonde hair tickles my forehead.

_Dianna_, I internally sigh in relief_._

I lift my head off the pillow a little, registering that my right arm is around her waist, resting on her stomach, my fingers intertwined with her own.

I smile to myself, instantly remembering last night. Her short pencil skirt, her wedge-heeled shoes, the yellow stars in the pitch-black sky, her bare, slender nape before me, her Chloè perfume, her 'hehehe' giggling, her voice, saying things like "I want to take care of you tonight" or "You always manage to brighten up my day", her t-shirt of The Hives, her short shorts, the embarassed, cute way she tugged on them, her tattoo, the sweet, reverie-like way she talked about her childhood.

I notice that we're… spooning. It's funny, I'd never thought I'd ever get to be the big spoon. But I'm more than happy to be Dianna's big spoon.

I move my head back a little, and take a moment to appreciate the vision before me.

Her wild, blonde hair are sprawled on the bed - she slept without a pillow! -, and her back is a multitude of curves: the graceful outline of her exposed neck against the morning light, the lean peak of her shoulders, the slim ribby undulation of her chest, raising and falling in a slow rhythm, the sweet meander of her hips, the bend of her curled up legs, the arch of her spine.

It's so beautiful. I take a mental picture, to remember this wonder. I take my time to study this pleasure to behold.

I shift a bit, nestling my head against her nape and reveling in the sensation. I don't want to get up. Not yet.

* * *

><p>Where am I?<p>

Who am I?

How old am I?

These are the first questions that pop in my mind as soon as I begin to gain consciousness.

I'm in my bed, as usual.

I'm… Dianna Elise Agron.

I'm… I was born in 1986, April 30th so… since today is… Sunday, November 2nd… I'm 22.

O-kay. I established my whereabouts and my identity.

I relax and shift a little. With the swift movement, I register the presence of something on my stomach. I crack my eyes open and look down, and see my hand laced with another hand.

Slender fingers, brown nail polish, strong-looking knuckles, olive skin.

_Lea_.

I smile to myself, as I remember every detail of yesterday night.

Her little black dress, her stiletto shoes, Lea gulping down her tequila, the curls of her hair bouncing on her shoulders when she was dancing, the hazy look of her eyes as soon as the alcohol had struck, her barely open lids, the smug smirk, her slurred compliments, her purple, full lips, her breath on my face and her hand firmly enclosing my wrist, her Chanel No.5, her trembling voice whens she said "I just thought we could warm eachother up", her head snuggling in the crook of my neck, the "Good mornight".

I shift a little again, and I realize that her head is nestled against my nape. God, does she have a thing for necks? I chuckle quietly, trying to disentangle my fingers from hers, without waking her up; I rest her arm in the warm spot my body was on, cover her again with the white sheets, and admire the vision. Her face, previously nestled against my nape, is now tilted down so that her chin is against her collarbone, her lips lightly pouting, her deep and slow breathing revealing she's definitely still asleep. Her sultry brown hair are sprawled on my pillow.

Wondering whether her perfume will still be on my pillow tonight, I quietly tiptoe to the bathroom.

Now. What's usually in a vegan breakfast? Scratch that, it's 12 am, I'm dead hungry, she'll probably be starving aswell. I need a vegan brunch recipe.

I tiptoe back in my room, rummage in my drawer to find a hoodie, some pants and socks. I silently get dressed, google 'vegan brunch recipe', browse until I find something nice, write down the ingredients I'll need, write down a note for Lea, and head to the nearest vegan-friendly grocery store.

* * *

><p><em>Yawn<em>.

God, I have to wake up, I can't stay in bed all day.

I slowly shift and realize Dianna is not beside me anymore.

I quickly sit up and panic.

Why has she left? Did she regret anything?

_Okay first, Lea, nothing happened. You just slept together. And by that I mean actual sleep, slumber, in the arms of Morpheus._

_Second, this is her apartment. How can she leave?_

Right. I look at the alarm clock on her bedside table. It's forty past twelve, for God's sake.

As I get up, I notice the little blue Post-it, with what looks like Dianna's handwriting on it – the grace, the elegance in it looks a lot like Dianna's own.

_Goodmorning Lea!_

_Rise and shine!_

_There'll be a nice, hangover-friendly, vegan brunch waiting for you as soon as I get back from the grocery store!_

_- Dianna :)_

She's so enchanting and considerate, I can't put my mind completely around it. There must be some flaws, some darkness, some shadow in Dianna's character, somewhere.

There are also a couple of framed pictures on her bedside table: one shows a grinning Dianna with who I suppose are Millie and Marisa, at a party, dressed as hippies; the other one shows Dianna, laughing at some joke, with her family.

I take my time to take a glance at Dianna's bedroom, as I didn't do it yesterday (too distracted by either alcohol or Dianna).

The bed is simple, double-sized, with white sheets and white soft pillows - she doesn't really use those though.

The walls are painted with a bright pastel yellow, pinned with framed weird pictures of little things that would normally go unnoticed, such as: a graffiti drawing of an octopus on a city wall, a girl looking at a dog looking at roasting chickens in a butcher's window, a trapeze in the dark of a large circus arena, a child fumbling with his clothes with painty hands.

Shelves are crammed with books and dvds, and pieces of paper lie on top of them. I try to read the titles of some of the spines: "On the road" by John Kerouac, some Nick Hornby, "Atonement" by Ian McEwan,"Ask the dust" by John Fante, some novels by Bukowski, some C.S. Lewis classics, "The Art of Tim Burton", a huge hardcover book of Audrey Hepburn's biography, some T. S. Eliot poetry, "The Cemetery Book: Graveyards, Catacombs and Other Travel Haunts Around the World" (the HELL is that?), Roal Dahl's "James and the Giant Peach", "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory", "The BFG", are you still reading here, "The Witches", "Roald Dahl's Book of Ghost Stories", "Matilda".

Cds are stocked in a clutter on various cd holders all around the room, all by quality artists like Tom Waits, Lykke Li, Nina Simone, Danny Elfman, Edith Piaf, Fiona Appe. There's also some rock in the mix, like: The XX, Metric, The Smiths, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Arctic Monkeys, The Hives, R.E.M. Hundreds of other artists add to the jumble, some I've never heard of.

There's also a forgotten poster of a Dali painting in a corner.

I quickly walk to the kitchen, intrigued by the divine smell of food.

"Oh, you're awake! Nice to know, I was starting to wonder if you'd usually go on hybernation on Sundays" she says, with a huge grin plastered across her face.

She's cooking.

"Nice one, but no. I'm a morning person! If I don't drink the night before, that is"

She giggles a bit, before asking: "Are you feeling alright? Any signs of headache? Dry mouth? Nausea?"

"Not really, I think I fully recovered with tonight's sleep"

I smile warmly.

She serves my plate and hers on the kitchen counter, as she indicates a stool.

She made tofu salad, toasts with apricot preserves, crepes with dark chocolate, orange juice and coffee.

"It looks delicious, Dianna"

"Thank you!"

We start to eat.

"You know, Dianna… I really appreciate what you did last night, and what you're doing now… It's literally a feast!"

"It's nothing, really… I-"

"Will you go out with me?"

The sentence peters out in a whisper, but she clearly heard me. I blurted this out all at once, without thinking it through. The question drops in an awkward silence as her jaw hangs slack.

"You know, I mean… It doesn't have to be-"

"When?"

Her expression is unreadable, but the tone of her voice was serious, almost aggressive. I'm scared.

"Oh! Mmh. I haven't really thought about it, I just -"

"I'm shooting my last two scenes tomorrow, so from tomorrow on I'm free"

She sounds like she's grunting, and her pitch just dropped to downright low.

"Oh! Okay so… I have a few scenes to shoot on Tuesday so… how about Wednesday?"

"November the 5th?"

"Yeah?"

"Sounds perfect" She smirks.

It's a smug, devilish smirk. I can't tell if I'm turned on, or just plain scared.

* * *

><p>I shoot my last scenes on Monday, and she shoots her own on Tuesday, so she calls me to tell me her plan for Wednesday.<p>

"I'll come and pick you up, then we'll have dinner at my apartment!" She says, matter-of-factly.

"That is if I agree to go out with you" I say blankly.

"But… but I thought you said you would go out with me" She sounds hurt.

"Doesn't 'will you go out with me' imply that we actually go out?"

"We will eventually go out, Dianna. You'll have to wear something elegant. Now, I'm not going to spoil my date surprise, am I?"

"Oh. Oh! Okay then!"

I'm quite surprised she actually used the word 'date'. The lines of 'going out' were pretty blurred, until now.

Yes!

I'm going out with Lea Michele.

As soon as I hang up with her, Marisa's face appears on my phone, and I pick up.

"Dianna, it's been a shit long week without hearing from you!"

"I know Mari, I know! My week has been hectic… How are you?"

"Fine girl, just fine. You?"

"I'm fine myself… I just started dating someone"

She needs to know. And Millie needs to know aswell, as soon as she gets back home.

"Ooh shit, me too! You remember Jack? He eventually caved and asked me out. What's his name?"

"What?"

"The name of your date. What's his name?"

"Oh. Oh! Well… I don't know how to tell you but… it's Lea. As in a girl. Lea, a girl. I'm dating a girl"

"Oh. Oh! …She hot?"

That definitely isn't the answer I expected. I love Marisa.

"She's beautiful, and she's kind, passionate and funny. She used to perform on Broadway!"

"Is she… is she on Glee aswell? Is she Lea Michele?"

"Yes, that's the one"

"OHMYGOD Dianna. I loved Spring Awakening! Can you tell her something from me?"

"What would that be?"

"'Congrats on getting touched by that guy every night and calling it a job'. That's what you should tell her"

"Marisa, Jonathan Groff is her best friend. And I'm definitely not telling her that"

"Pff, you're boring. You're a boring friend. I miss your boringness."

"I miss you too. How's our San Francisco these days?"

"Gay and magic as ever. It's quite cold though. How's the City of Angels?"

"Cold and all but magic. But not as lonely since Millie got back from her San Francisco weekend, even though she's been out most of the time I'm home. She's really busy with her law apprenticeship. I heard you guys got to meet?"

"Yes we did. Went to watch High School Musical 3 on Saturday. It was sick"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I clearly am into teenage boys and lousy songs – No, it was sick as in 'offensive', on any level. It sucked."

"That's my girl. Why did you go watch it then?"

"Millie loved the first film and is currently crushing on Zac Efron so…"

"His hair looks weird in those movies though"

"No need to tell me that, I studied every wisp and strand of that mop in those two drama-dripping hours. Such intense acting, such an intelligent and unpredictable storyline."

I chuckle.

"I wanted to watch Valkyrie but Millie wouldn't let me. She said 'It's a history movie and it will end in massacre' and I was like 'Yeah! AND, the soundtrack is going to be great!'. Still wouldn't let me"

I love my friends. I quickly update her with news about Millie's job, and hang up.

I have a nice, reinvigorating shower, take my time to pick an appropriate date outfit, and wait for Lea to come and pick me up.

I feel like a little silly girl in her best dress on the day of her birthday party, waiting for the guests to arrive in giddy excitement, but still afraid that no one will show up.

* * *

><p>I planned the date down to every detail. I'm going out with Dianna Agron: I've got my chance, and I'm not going to screw this up.<p>

I tried to ask Jon for advice, but he was on a date with some guy called Jeremy. So I finally told Jenna, who filled me in with 'I knew it all along's and big 'told you's, and asked for her advice.

While I knock on Dianna's door, I quickly comb through my hair with my hands, flatten my shirt, and think to myself. Fuck, this is actually going to happen. She agreed to go on a date, a proper date with me.

As she opens her apartment's door, I'm sure time comes to a halt. Her glowing figure appears and I'm startled by too much beauty coming into view. A pair of gleaming hazel eyes strikes right through me, as a radiant smile stretches her raspberry-coloured lips, and she asks: "Excuse me, but don't I know you from somewhere?"

How does she comes up with these phrases, seriously?

I'm here, fumbling with my words, and trying to find something intelligent and canny to say… and there she goes, putting sentences together like she's a beat-generation writer.

Maybe she likes to write. Maybe that's what those paper sheets were scribbled with! Her intuitive, insightful perception of life.

The best choice of elegant words I can come up with is "That's amazing!" or "Totally!", while I'm sure she'll start speaking French at some point.

Also, her glinting eyes are somewhat flirty. I'm not sure if she can ever really stop her eyes being flirty: it must be deep-rooted.

That's not helping me, so I predictably fumble with my words, stuttering out a feeble "No, I would definitely remember", smile shyly, grab her hand like she did last Saturday night, and gently walk her down the stairs.

The music I previously picked precisely for tonight resonates in my car, and as Tom Waits's slow, raw, gruff voice echoes in the speakers, Dianna squeals in excitement.

"This is one of my favourite songs! How did you know?"

"I… I didn't know. I just assumed you would like it"

Now, I know she likes Tom Waits thanks to my observant (and fairly stalker-ish) nature, but I picked this song because the lyrics are just so beautiful, and I can totally (see? I need to read the dictionary more) relate with what this grotesque man is growling.

"_Well the room is crowded, there's people everywhere  
><em>_And I wonder, should I offer you a chair?  
><em>_Well if you sit down with this old clown, take that frown and break it,  
><em>_Before the evening's gone away, I think that we could make it,  
><em>_And I hope that I don't fall in love with you._

_[…]_

_Now it's closing time, the music's fading out  
>Last call for drinks, I'll have another stout.<br>Turn around to look at you, you're nowhere to be found,  
>I search the place for your lost face, guess I'll have another round<br>And I think that I just fell in love with you. _"

* * *

><p>As she leads the way into her rented apartment, she absentmindedly throws her keys on her couch, just in the way I always do.<p>

"Now, I will show you around the house, and I'll get back to cooking what I've set up to be the best meal you'll ever have in your life" She smiles proudly, and I feel startled by the new wave of affection I feel for her. I'd hug her right on the spot.

"This is the living room, which is just a couch, a couple of armchairs and a tv. Now this, this is my collection of dvds, alphabetized. They're mainly musicals but there is quite an amount of romcoms, costume movies and old classics, because I'm not THAT predictable. And this is my family" she mumbles, gesturing towards a picture of a beautiful woman and a funny-looking man, and a younger Lea, all of them grinning and giving thumbs up, with a big playbill of "Spring Awakening" on the in the background of the shot. I can see she misses them.

We take a quick trip of the rest of the house: a small bedroom with dramatically dark scarlet sheets, some framed pictures of: Jon, Jenna and Lea, in their scene costumes (so this is Jon!); her family again; a funny picture of the girls of the cast of Spring Awakening, all dancing like crazy at some party (was that one of those drunken parties? Which of them had been Lea's preys? Had they all succumbed to her magnetism?), and some random pictures of school friends, and of quaint localities she spent her holidays at.

"Jon looks nice!"

"He is nice. I'm sure you'll get to meet him someday" She adds, smiling with poise.

As she grabs some utensils and the ingredients she'll need, we start talking about Glee, and how was our experience with high school.

We get carried away easily and end up talking about subjects we liked, clubs we joined, friends we made, friends we still keep in touch with, and relationships we had.

"I only had a boyfriend in high school, but I loved him dearly. He was a sweetheart, that typical Golden boy my mum went crazy about. But I eventually grew up, while he didn't, I got caught in theatre, while he didn't, and he just kind of fell out of the projection of my future life"

She shrugs and I can't help but nod vigorously.

"That's what happened to me aswell! Well, apart from my high school boyfriend, he cheated on me."

"Cheated on you? How dare he? Who does he think he is?"

She shakes her head in disbelief, then looks up at me and smiles, turning her head to resume her cooking, though I'm sure I got a glimpse of a growing smirk.

"I eventually joined Spring Awakening, and… I started experiencing, like we are supposed to do at our age"

I gasp a little, knowing exactly what she's hinting at.

"Are we? Nobody ever tells me anything"

She laughs, and I can't help but get a little jealous.

"Experience, then? What did you experience? Some bohemian, backstage, art-imitates-life love adventure with a theatre actress?"

She chuckles a little. "Not at all. I told you, I just kissed some girls at random"

"Why though?"

She sighs deeply, frown, and then she looks like she's taking her courage in both hands and says: "I didn't know why, at the time. But I guess I know now. I've been questioning since Spring Awakening started being on Broadway, and I guess that subconsciously, I was trying to make it clear to myself that I wasn't interested in girls. So I kissed those girls just to make a statement, more to myself than anything. Of course those kisses didn't mean a thing so I just thought I found my answer. But that wasn't the real one"

There's a still silence after what she said, and she looks concerned and worried, so I just want to lighten up the atmosphere.

"I've never made out with a girl. Never thought I was interested"

But as soon as that comes out of my mouth, I notice that my pitch is lower than usual, and downright serious. She turns to fully look at me, and leans back on the kitchen counter in an interested, captivating look.

_Think, Dianna, think!_

"So, what is this life-changing meal you were talking about? Nothing's ready yet!" I say, playfully poking her shoulder, as I startle her from whatever she was thinking deeply about.

"I'm cooking, Gordon Ramsay! And I'm not going to lower my standards and rush my slow walk towards culinary perfection just because you're sat there, fluttering your long eyelashes at me" She playfully replies, as she pokes me back on my shoulder, and turns her back at me to resume her cooking.

Ten minutes later, she walks me to the dining room, and there she sets up the table, lights some candles and tells me to sit down.

She shouts from the kitchen: "This is going to be the most memorable meal you've ever had in your life because I cooked Italian, original Italian, not that garlic-dripping stuff we do here in America. My grandma taught my mum the recipes, and she passed them to me. Obviously everything's vegan friendly" she walks straight in the dining room, holding up a plate.

"This is bruschetta: toasted bread, with a little garlic, olive oil and freshly cut tomatoes. This is our appetizer. And this is vegetable lasagna, which is lasagna pasta layers with zucchini, tomatoes, eggplants, mushrooms and red sweet peppers"

"Can I have a doggy bag later?"

As we eat this delicious dinner (well, Lea eats it, I wolf it down), we delight in the pleasures of small talk, sprinkled from time to time by my 'mmmh's in praise to the flavorful food, or by shared, smiling silences.

As I help her clean up the table, I finally find the perfect moment to ask her what I've been dying to know all night.

"So, what's the surprise for tonight?"

"I'd tell you, but doesn't a surprise imply that it remains secret?" she says, with an intriguing expression.

I snort and blow air through my hair, just like the Little Mermaid does (this is deep-rooted, I started doing it when I was a child and first watched the Disney version).

She chuckles. "You're so cute when you're frustrated".

Her expression falters, suddenly aware of having let drop those words.

"You're so cute when you think you've said too much" I remark, laughing, trying to make her feel comfortable.

She chortles and then says "I'm ready to go. We are going somewhere you don't know, to see something you might like. That's all you'll get me to reveal. Oh, and we don't really need to use the car. You ready to go?".

I nod, and we're off.

* * *

><p>We finally hit our destination.<p>

Dianna is so curious she's getting fidgety, so I take her hand, intertwine our fingers, and take her through the sliding doors of the big movie theatre where the remastered Centennial Collection version of 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' is premiering (the movie will officially come out in January).

A high school friend of mine I still keep in touch with is now an event planner, and was luckily involved in this premiere, so I called him and I got the VIP passes for tonight.

The movie theatre has been redecorated to look like an elegant 1950's New York cinema, with expensive chandeliers, fancy billboards of old classics, autographs of actors and actresses are framed and hung on the walls.

I turn to look at Dianna who still hasn't said a word since we came in. She looks utterly speechless and dumbfounded, so I hand her the leaflet, with the following printed words, "Breakfast at Tiffany's Remastered Centennial Collection version Premiere! Get CRAZY about Tiffany's all over again!", and I give her an explanation of what this version is going to include.

I give my VIP passes to two stewards of the event, dressed up in tuxedos and shiny shoes, and Dianna is still staring at the leaflet, her mouth hanging open.

I whisper to her ear, tugging her hand and sliding my right arm around her waist, claiming her: "You know, as much as you're excited about this, I'm not sure the motion-picture-wise relevant people who are inside will look at this gaping you in the adoring way these two tuxedo guys are"

She seems startled, and quickly closes her mouth, smiling to the two stewards, making our way through to attend the screening.

"Lea, I… I can't believe we are here! I can't believe I'm about to see this! At the cinema! With you! It's all kinds of wonderful!" She breathes in through her mouth, trying to collect her thoughts, and eventually explain.

"You know, I sometimes regret not having lived the 50's, with those charming actors and movies that would make history, mainly because I didn't get the chance to see them on the big screen. Being in a darkened room, watching a film for the first time, not knowing what to expect... I just wish I experienced that with those timeless classics. Just imagine being in a movie theatre, on the opening night of 'Casablanca'!"

Her smile falters a little.

"I just… don't know how I'll be able to thank you enough for this!"

"Dianna, you watched over me on Saturday night, you let me sleep in your bed, you cooked me brunch and you are being the most endearing person I've ever met. And that quite makes up for this" I wink playfully. "Just enjoy it, okay?"

She nods.

"Oh, have I mentioned that Blake Edward is going to be here aswell, and that he will be interviewed right after the showing?" I mutter, poker-faced.

"WHAT?"

"Yeah, and they will pick some questions from the audience to ask him"

"WHAT?"

"Houston, do we have a problem?" I say, waving a hand before her eyes, as she looks at me, completely lost.

"WHAT?"

A number of 'WHAT's later, after the movie finished, we linger in the movie theatre to listen to the interviews and then just to look at all the legends walking by us, and then just to flail over when Mickey Rooney spoke to us ("Girls, do you know where the bathroom is, by any chance?").

After some more flailing out of the cinema, we end our night laughing our hearts off in my car, while I drive her back to her apartment, remembering the funny bits of the movie, and imitating Audrey's typically 50's-ish accent, and George Peppard's slow slur.

"A couple of poor, nameless slobs"

"I don't think I've ever drunk champagne before breakfast before. With breakfast on several occasions, but never before, before."

"Lea-baby!" she squeals, clapping her hands together in amusement.

* * *

><p>She pulls over, and she walks me right to my apartment (it's LA, after all).<p>

"I had so much fun, Di, you can't even imagine" She sighs, and absent-mindedly she starts fidgeting with my fingers, still intertwined with hers.

"I had so much fun aswell. That was actually THE best meal I've ever had in my life – but don't tell my mum. And the surprise just… That was just perfect"

Her lips are puffing out a bit, just like last Saturday night, after all the alcohol. I guess this time it's just the November cold breeze causing her lips to look so full.

I realize I have been staring, so I quickly scan her eyes, but they're locked on my lips, in a scarily intense dark gaze.

_She wants this too._

While she's slowly inching near, she whispers "Good night".

My gaze keeps shifting between her right and left eye, then her mouth, then her eyes again, until she's so close my view judders, and I flutter my eyes shut.

In pure blindness, the graze of her hand suddenly on the small of my back has me fighting for air, but just when I gasp, she brushes her lips against mine, capturing my mouth in a chaste, shaky kiss, and I'm gone.

It's not earth-shattering, but still, the intensity and the quivering feel of it makes me think: today I start to live.

This matches every silly stereotype. A piano is playing a little tune in my head, and I can sense the eerie feeling that earth went still for a little while, somewhere blurring the view around us, just to give us this moment. Nothing matters right now, nothing but our quivering lips, sharing the deepest of secrets.

I re-adjust myself a bit, tilting my head to the right, and she moans quietly.

She pulls back quickly, because apparently that startled her.

She mutters "Good night, Di" breathlessly and start walking down the stairs, so I just wave at her and close my apartment door, dumbfounded.

Seconds later, a quiet, single knock hits my door, so I open it again. As soon as I do, I find Lea's frightened eyes, darkened by some emotion I just can't define. She's panting, and she basically walks into me, so all I do is back up against my door frame, mostly from the swiftness of her movement than anything else.

She inches near and cup my cheeks with both her hands, and pulls me in.

Her lips capture mine in a deathly slow kiss; as soon as she stops a second to gasp and breathe in, I enclose her hips firmly with my hands, and tug, wrenching her close again.

"God" She mutters breathlessly, before I lean in and take Lea's plump, amazing, i-want-those-on-me lips.

She groans, loudly this time, and I whimper a little. I run my hands up her sides, until my fingers are stroking the column of her neck, feeling her pulse underneath my touch.

She moans again, runs the tip of her tongue against my lips, and as I tentatively part them, she slips in and deepens the kiss in a slow crawl, tongues dancing, hands clutching, lips brushing.

I'm more turned on than I've ever felt in my life, to be honest. My arousal started to creep from my lips right down my center as soon as i felt her hand on the small of my back, and with these added sensations, I can't help but want to touch her, feel her and hear these sweet moans again and again.

I nip at her lower lip, she sucks on my tongue. "Fuck" is the one thing that pours out of my mouth as she moves her hands from my cheeks to my stomach, fumbling with the hem of my shirt, and then up under.

A whispered "Oh my God" leaves her mouth as soon as she's touching my skin, as though she can feel the electrifying shock that her touch shoots through my body.

We kiss again, tongues tangoing in a slow rhythm, wanting to taste everything.

She breaks the kiss, peppering my jaw line with pecks, and then licking the column of my neck, lingering to taste my skin. "Fuck" I mutter again, unable to NOT say it, as she sucks on my pulse point, and moans against it.

Those lips are to die for.

Literally, I'm sure I'm going to have a heart attack because of those lips.

"Your skin tastes delicious" she whispers in warm breath against my neck. My hands run down her sides until they're resting at the very low part of her back, itching to touch her bottom.

As she sucks again on my pulse point, then nip at it, I just give in and let my hands roam, until they cup her ass cheeks, and she has to break the kiss to gasp for air. "Fuck, Dianna".

I back away a bit, moving my hands a bit higher. "Too much too fast?"

"No, God no. It's just… we might want to take some sleep tonight, and if you do that again I'm not responsible of my actions afterwards".

That sentence gets my mouth watering, and a new wave of arousal crashes to my center. But she's right.

I back off some more, leaning against the door frame. She intertwines our fingers, and squeezes meaningfully.

"I really want to thank you for being my date tonight, Dianna, and for shattering my world and putting it back together with a kiss"

She's so perfect I just have to kiss her again.

As our mouths part again, I mutter: "Thank you for the meal, for the amazing once-in-a-lifetime chance of seeing Breakfast at Tiffany in an actual movie theatre. And thank you for coming back after that first kiss"

"Heartbreaker, you" she mutters, and shyly smiles, before squeezing my hand again, and walking away, down the flight of stairs of my flat.

_Heartbreaker, you_. These words echo in my head, and I just want to capture this moment, frame it, and hang it up somewhere, to remember every little detail.

So, November the 5th it is.

Golly gee damn!


	9. Love takes hostages

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or FOX or any of the shows here cited. This is merely a projection of what could have been.**

**Thanks for the comeback, again. I really appreciate it, and it keeps me in the mood to write and keep writing.**

**In this chapter there's more of the Millie-Dianna-Marisa dynamic. It's quite fun to imagine their friendship, especially with Dianna being so quirky. **

**Also, the Gleeks are back!**

**Also, I'd like to hear some suggestion from you, like what you think I should improve or what you'd like to see in the next chapters (can't really obey to what you will say but I will obviously consider it and maybe even take on some suggestions).**

**(To write this chapter I took inspiration from Neil Gaiman's quote about love that goes 'Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it?', which is included in "The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones")**

**On with chapter 9.**

**Chapter 9 – Love takes hostages**

_Friday, 6th of November, 2008_

As I was just about to go to bed, I hear the apartment's door being unlocked in the typical Millie way –turning the key quickly and swiftly, with some metallic jingling, like she's annoyed that there's something in her way.

"Millie! Thank God you're finally home! What time did you get in yesterday? And Wednesday? Didn't hear you coming in either time, but I guess I was asleep. And you always leave home before I wake up… How was your apprenticeship? How is it going?"

"Di, flash a table lamp at my face and plunge me in darkness. If this is going to be an interrogation at least do it right" she manages to say, through a laugh.

She's struggling to hold her briefcase and her purse, while trying to pull back the keys from the keyhole, so I take everything she has in her hands, bring her stuff to her bedroom, help her with the keys as she can finally plop in our couch, slipping out of her shoes.

"I can't even believe I'm home. I started thinking I could aswell pack up and move to the law office"

"I'm so sorry they always keep you up this late, Millie"

"Well, I've grown to like getting back home this late: walking around the city at the small hours of the morning, wearily shuffling my feet on the pavements, still wearing my morning suit, looking like a creep"

Millie's always ironic. She takes every opportunity of adorning her speech with sarcasm, as though the words pouring from her mouth just _need _that causticity.

"So, how is the apprenticeship going? Is the offer in San Francisco still on?"

"The apprenticeship is exhaustingly thrilling, even though they don't let me do much yet. And yes, the San Francisco law firm offer is still valid, and I accepted it. Starting in January"

"I'm so happy for you! You'll be like a superhero!"

"Dianna, I'm an attorney, not a warrior"

"…You'll fight against injustices…" I raise my back off the couch.

"Dianna…"

"…You won't stand intolerance and exploitation..." I stand up on the couch.

"Di…"

"… and you'll protect the weak and the frail! You'll be WonderMillie!" I vocalize, grinning like a dork and lifting a fist in the air, purely for the drama of it.

_God, do I really spend THAT much time with Lea?_

"Dianna. WonderMillie would be a pathetic superhero name, the villains would laugh at me, and that would be counterproductive. And, coming back to a world of reality, I'm a criminal lawyer, I'll be mainly defending criminals"

"Oh yeah… Why would you like to do that, again?"

"Well, again, isn't defending a criminal more thrilling? Doesn't it take more skill? Defending innocent people is quite easy"

"Ah!" I say, still unconvinced, while I plop down and sit back against the couch again. I'm itching to tell her about Lea, but while Marisa is older and much more confortable having those kind of talks with me, it's different with Millie. She's my rock, but she grew up with a religious and severe upbringing, so I don't know how she might take it.

"I missed having you around the house, Millie"

"I know, I'm amazing aren't I? I would miss myself too. If… I wasn't already attached to my body all the time. If… this even makes sense. God, I definitely need some sleep"

"…And I miss having Marisa along with us aswell"

"I loved being the three of us here, having our board games marathons on Thursday nights"

"Talking about Marisa… I told her something you don't know yet"

She gives me a playful death glare.

"I told her before because I didn't know how you might react so I just put off telling you, and also, you were never home"

Playful death glare again. Playful, completely playful. Yeah.

"I have to tell you something important about my life, and I need your support. Can you promise me you are not going to push me away, or act weird around me after my confession?"

"Dianna, to be completely honest with you, if I accepted your quirks, your short stories about your male alter ego Charlie, your fetish for that headcase that is Bukowski, and your unhealthy obsession with cemeteries, ghosts and skulls without flinching, I think I can survive this, whatever you're going to tell me"

"Okay. Because I really need your support with this"

"What, you have secretly been raised and fostered by aliens? Cause I have a whole theory about it, and Marisa and I have this bet going on, so if-"

"No, it's not- Wait, what?"

"Forget it. Go on" She encourages me, closing her eyes and wiggling her hand.

"Alright. You know I started filming for this new project, Glee…"

"Are you going to start from the beginnings of time? I already know this" She's smiling reassuringly.

"Alright. I met someone on the first read-through, someone from the cast. And I don't even know how, we instantly clicked, it's like the whole universe plotted to make us meet somehow"

"Wow, you've never talked like that about your ex boyfriends"

"Exactly. This time it's different"

I wait for her to take in every word I say. This needs a slow pace and baby steps.

"This time is really different because… it's not a boy I've fallen for"

I breathe in, letting the words sink in, and finally let the confession drop.

"This time, it's a girl I've fallen for. I'm dating a girl. Lea Michele"

She looks stunned, but then tries to cover that look with a poker-face expression, and then says, feebly and slowly:

"So you… like girls?"

"I like _her_" I say, trying to pour intent and affection in that answer, trying to make her feel the simplest and most earnest thing I can feel in my heart right now.

Because, at the end of the day, I can't and don't want to label myself. Not because of cowardy or because I can't decide, but because I simply don't believe that classifying my sexuality will make any difference. I've liked boys before, and now I like her. Simple as that. I'm into people.

"L-Lea Michele?"

I silently nod.

"How did it happen? How did it 'click'?"

I understand where she's going with this. She needs to know why it happened with Lea, why is she this important all of a sudden.

"I just looked at her in the eyes, and somehow I felt this cosmic pull towards her"

She eyes at me with an earnest look, trying to take in what I'm saying.

"Do you believe in love at first sight? When your gaze locks with someone else's and in some way, you feel like you can see her inner being, somewhere in her irises, and you can see the honesty, the intensity of it? Like destiny has laid a hand?"

She looks sad for a second, then smiles and replies: "God yes, I do"

"That's what happened with her. For the first time in my life I felt this powerful sort of magnetism, and it happened to be with a girl"

"…What is she like?"

I sit on a chair, opposite her, looking at her intently in the eyes.

"She is sincere, passionate, sweet, endearing, and she has this unapologetic drive I'm crazy about. I'd like you to meet her, whenever you're ready. Because if everything goes right, I have a feeling she might become part of my life"

She eyes at me, shifting her glance from my right eye to my left, and then says calmly:

"I'd like to meet her someday, and she'd better be as great as you described her, because if she even thinks about ever hurting you, I'll… I'll just flip out"

She smiles and winks at me, so I squeal in excitement and squeeze her in a big hug.

"Thank you"

"So… Lea Michele, huh?" She smirks, feebly.

"Lea Michele" I sigh, in a sheepish smile.

I nestle on the couch beside her, against the armrest.

"You and Marisa got to meet in San Francisco, I heard"

"Yeah. Did she tell you we went to see High School Musical 3?" She smirks.

"Yes, and I was weirded out by that. Why on earth did you want to see it? I understand you like Zac Efron, but…"

"Oh God, you won't believe it"

"What?"

"I don't really have a thing about Zac Efron, and his hair looks like a mop in those movies anyway. I'm not even a fan of the films"

"What?"

"I just begged Marisa to come with me, just to see if she would agree. I knew how she despised the films, so I just thought she would rant on about the modern film industry and just tut the idea away. But she was so happy we got to spend some time together that she agreed, so we went and watched the entire thing."

"Wait. You made her watch it just for the fun of it?"

"Sure did. Her face was legendary. Do you remember when we ate the last donuts before she woke up, so she didn't have anything to eat for breakfast? Do you remember her face?"

"Oh God, I'll remember it till the day I die. She looked like she would start trembling, say 'I assure you that you wouldn't like to see me angry', turn green and rip her shirt in pieces all of a sudden."

"Well, it was worse. During the film she just sat there, with her arms folded, puffing and snorting at the corniest lines" she says, making a perfect impression of an angry Marisa, with pouty lips, a slightly corrugated chin, her brows furrowed, one leg crossed over the other, her foot swinging in a quick, nervous way.

"Then, outside the theatre, she predictably tried to give me a lecture about modern films, about how classic Disney was 'so different it's ridiculous'" she makes a perfect impression of Marisa's low, gruff pitch, "and about how Walt Disney would highly disapprove of all of this, but I kept saying 'It was amazing, I loved it! So much better than watching Valkyrie! Zac Efron was hot! I loved it!'"

"So you didn't tell her you actually don't like High School Musical OR Zac Efron?"

"Nope, and not planning to. I happen to enjoy being alive, you know?"

We laugh ourselves silly, until we start yawning and mumbling we should go to sleep, so we crash onto our beds and slumber.

* * *

><p><em>Sunday, 9th of November, 2008<em>

I'm still startled by the note that slipped under my apartment door this morning, which I didn't notice right away as I spent my day in complete and wonderful time-wasting, enjoying the pleasures of coffee and the soothing stupidity of reality tv.

At first I thought it was the usual unwelcome advertising flier, but when I approached the hallway I realized it wasn't. It couldn't be.

It was a white sheet of paper, with the grace of Dianna's writing scribbling all across it.

_Someone once said: "When a day that you happen to know is Wednesday starts off sounding like Sunday, there is something seriously wrong somewhere."_

_Well, I love Sundays. They're so tranquil, days to be enjoyed and lived thoroughly, not rushed by any serious thought, just there to be spent in utter silliness and pure joy._

_Our Wednesday the 5th was just a perfect Sunday, and there was absolutely nothing wrong about it._

_Merci beaucoup pour une nuit d'émerveillement!_

_- Dianna_

I knew it. I told you she would start speaking French at some point!

Is there anywhere I can buy Dianna's vocabulary? No?

My heart is swelling with affection, I just need to call her.

"Y'ello?"

Only she could pull off a 'y'ello' and still manage to sound cute.

"Red?"

_Really Lea, really? Next time keep that to yourself, the religious right already hates us enough._

But she's giggling! That sweet 'hehehe' and 'hihihi' giggle that makes my chest tighten up in endearment.

"Hi Lea"

Her voice is low-pitched, slow and poised, and the almost husky way she sounds makes my heart swell and shoots warmth in a much southern area.

_Is this normal? Are you sick?_

Hey hey conscience, tone it down. Dianna's voice is the reason they made up the phrase 'sounds like sex', so yes, I think that's normal.

"Hey Di, I just found the note"

"Oh did you? Did you like it?"

"I did, it was sweet of you to stop by just to slip that under my apartment door. How did you get inside my flat though?"

"Your door keeper is a sweet old man. I just told him I needed to give someone a letter and he was so nice about it. He said 'Do people still write letters to eachother? That gives me a nice sense of continuity with the past', and he let me in"

"Leopold is adorable!"

Leopold is my old door keeper. He's got something of Morgan Freeman, but I can't decide if it's more because of the eyes or the freckles underneath them. The intensity of his gaze tells of long journeys, life-changing experiences, past sorrow, present serenity and utter wisdom.

When I told him he looked like the actor he laughed away and said "I get that aaall the time, lil' girl".

I almost wanted to reply "I'm not a little girl!" but the strength in his eyes and voice reminded me that I'm definitely just a little girl.

He's also got something of Rafiki, but I'm not going to tell him that.

"How was your day?"

"It was a perfectly lazy Sunday, with lots of coffee drinking and lots of reality tv watching. I find it soothing to watch bad television shows. How was yours?"

She giggles before replying: "It was nice and calm. I stopped by your flat before going shopping with Millie, and now I was just reading a book and drinking tea on my favourite armchair"

"What did you get?"

"I got some books from Barnes and Nobles, and then some cds I wanted to have in my collection"

"Nice! What are you reading at the moment?"

"'Long Way Down' by Nick Hornby. It's delightful. It's about four suicidals that run up against eachother while trying to jump off a building in London on New Year's Eve"

Note to self: if Dianna says that something is 'delightful', it's surely not rainbows-and-cotton candy-delightful.

"That… sounds… uh… quite sad"

"I know, but it really isn't! Hornby is such a talented writer, he succeeds in making it sound funny. Of course it's bittersweet irony for most of the time, but it's got some hilarious bits aswell"

God, I sound illiterate, while she reads hundreds of books. Maybe that's why she speaks so captivatingly? I really need to resume reading that book my mum gave me for my birthday. What was it again? 'Captain Corelli's… mandolin'! That's the one.

"So how are Millie and Marisa?"

"They're both very well. Marisa is currently living in San Francisco, she moved out two months ago because she found a job there, and LA was not her kind of city. While Millie is still living here, she's about to finish her apprenticeship, and she accepted a job offer as a criminal lawyer in a law firm in San Francisco, so she's moving back there in December"

"I would've liked to be an attorney if things with music and theatre didn't work out"

"Really?"

"Yeah, but I was really relieved when I got on Broadway"

"I bet"

"What was your backup plan?"

"I think… maybe… writing. Or photography? Or maybe starting my own charity society organization about MS… I don't really know. It's hard to pick one"

"MS?"

I can almost hear her sighing and wincing in her phone.

"Multiple sclerosis" Her voice is barely audible, almost a hurt whisper.

"Oh."

I feel like I have to say I'm sorry, even though I'm not really sure why. She sounds upset.

"Sorry for not catching that"

"No, it's just… it's okay, nevermind. Listen Lea, I think I have to go now, Millie's just got home. Talk to you later, I guess?"

"You guess? You don't know?" I attempt a smile, trying to bring one to her face.

"Talk to you later. Positive statement. Ringing affirmative" I car hear her smiling. That's better.

"That's better"

She giggles again, and then we hang up.

What was that?

Did I hurt her? That was surely not my intention.

I decide to text her. I can't call her again, and texts can be so much more effective sometimes.

Stupid Lea, stupid!

* * *

><p>As Millie opens the door and yells a tired "Hey-hey, Di-Di" at me, my phone buzzes.<p>

It's a text, from Lea.

_Whatever I said that made you feel uncomfortable, I take it all the way back. I'm sorry. *__insert smiliest face of all smiley faces__ :) Je suis tres désolé. (yay WordReference. com!)_

I'll need to explain this to her sooner or later.

"Who is texting you? Aww, look at you! Twinkling at the phone like a teenager"

I shake my head, and say "It's Lea"

"Oh! What does Lea say to brighten up your face like that?"

"She just… apologized"

She looks alarmed.

"Apologized?"

"We were talking about what our plan B would be, if we didn't end up being actresses or whatever, and I said I would be a writer, or a photographer, or that I would start my own charity society organization for MS"

She looks sympathetic all of a sudden, and comes closer to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder.

"She was like 'What?' and I guess she heard me wincing through the phone before saying 'Multiple sclerosis', so she said she was sorry, and texted me now to say she takes it back, whatever it was"

"So she doesn't know anything about it, does she?"

"Nope, but I'll have to tell her sometimes soon"

She rubs her hand against my shoulder, in a soothing manner, and then says "How about we watch some videos about puppies and eat some junk food?"

"You know this girl so well"

I go and get my laptop, while she puts our pop corns and potato chips in a bowl.

We both plop on the sofa, and she says: "I miss having Marisa around, we could play board games with her"

"Hey! Something just came up to me. How about I invite the Glee guys someday soon? They're so much fun, and it would be a nice opportunity to play board games, and for you to meet Lea in a casual environment… if you're ready for it?"

She looks at me in a questioning look.

"Why do I have to be ready for it, gosh! You make me sound like I'm an 19th century puritan! I want to meet this girl, Dianna! I can't wait to see who got you all smitten…" She smirks, swatting my thigh.

* * *

><p>'<em>Someday soon', Tuesday, 11th of November, 2008<em>

"Hey, who said this was going to be an alcohol-free party?"

"Mark, we have to be at the studios tomorrow morning!"

"Yeah, and I still don't get why we have to be there"

"Ryan is showing us the finished product of the pilot. They finally added the soundtrack and the voiceovers, the opening card and the cast names at the beginning! And the people from FOX are going to be there aswell"

"Oh. Well, we don't need to get hammered, we can just let it loose a bit. Y'know, get a bit tipsy and dizzy"

"Come on Lea! You were never opposed to some alcohol in New York!"

"Oh, you shut up on that Jen!"

"Come on Lea, this can be fun!"

I eye suspiciously at Dianna, who's playing her 'bat-the-eyelashes' card.

"Alright, alright. But I don't want to see any hangovers tomorrow! We need to stay professional here"

There's a cheer of 'yeah's and Mark suddenly pulls out some liquor store bags from behind his back.

"Hey! What if I said no?"

"Then, we would've kicked you out of the house. You're obviously not the apartment owner" He nods at Dianna with pouty lips, who winks back at him, giggling.

I feel slightly betrayed. Dianna rubs her hand down my back reassuringly and whispers: "Come on Lea, this could be fun! …Are you pouting?"

"No. I'm most definitely not"

Dianna smirks at me and giggles, and that cools me off.

"So. Anyone wants a cocktail? I'm something of a mixologist myself"

Naya looks at him with an unreadable expression, her arms folded, and says "Misogynist?"

"Mi_xol_ogist."

"Sorry, I thought you said 'misogynist'"

"No. And now go back to the kitchen, woman" He laughs along with Cory, who high-fives him. Naya just stands there, with her arms folded, giving Mark a death glare, and swatting his nape.

A scowling Mark, annoyed that his qualities as a fabled mixologist don't mean anything to Naya, asks, while rubbing the back of his neck: "Anyone up for a cocktail?"

As the various Martinis, Alabama slammers, Sex on the Beachs, Schnapps, Kamakazes, Singapore slings are served, we linger in the living room, chatting.

"Hey Lea, I wanted you to meet Millie Huckabee, one of my best friends"

A blonde bombshell walks towards me, led by her hand by an excited Dianna. She's got wavy hair, gently framing her face that can't be described in any other way but sweet: her eyes are gentle, her lips are nor thin nor full, just that perfect size in between.

"Hi Millie, it's nice to meet you" I smile, offering my hand.

"Lea, my pleasure. I've heard a lot about you"

"Good things, I hope"

"Oh, you have no idea"

Dianna is blushing furiously beside her, and decides it's just the perfect time to get her drink, so she skips across the room, towards Mark, who is flipping bottles and juggling cups.

When I see her doing silly things like gamboling about the place, and then patting Cory's back because he spilled his cocktail on his shirt and looks sad, then giving a high-five to Chris but missing him, trying to do it again and eventually just grabbing his hand and smacking it on hers… I fall for her a little harder. Just that little that makes you think 'Oh shit, this time is bad', and you can almost feel your heart cracking up a bit, meaning that you're letting someone get inside of you and mess you up a little, just that much that can shatter your life and your whole being, while love itself creeps into your soul, creates its own small abode inside your body, sets up tents and builds skyscrapers and a whole fucking city, while you're still trying to understand what kind of situation you're putting yourself into.

How does one, stupid and no different from any other stupid person, wander in your stupid life, do something dumb like smiling at you, or kissing you, and still manage to cut in your chest, send your walls tumbling down, so that your life isn't your own anymore? Love takes hostages. It gets inside of you and can make you feel like you're in heaven, but still hanging on the edge of a cliff, waiting for doom.

So if you asked me right now what Dianna's like, I would shake my head, and blow air through my mouth and say that she is great, just great, just… gorgeous. That's what love does to people.

Focusing my mind back to the party, I notice that the zip of Dianna's skirt has come undone by three inches or so at the back, and that the hem has ridden up to halfaway along her thigh. Her eyes are bright and shrewd and subconsciously flirting as ever, and she laughs with her mouth almost shut, bearing her teeth, like she's holding in some secret, and that makes her giggle sound like a 'hihihi' or a 'hehehe', which is almost as endearing as the dimples that gracefully enhance her elegance.

I decide to stay sober: I don't want to end up kissing Dianna's back again, saying things like 'You're a freakin' goddess'.

Millie and I join the others around Mark, who keeps tossing cups in the air, until someone eventually suggests a drinking game.

"Let's play Drug Dealer!"

"Aaand what the hell is that, Kevin?"

"We pick as many cards from a deck as we have players. We have to pick one ace and one king and mix in the deck before we deal one card to each player. Players memorize their card, so the player with the ace is the drug dealer and the player with the king is the cop. The drug dealer must wink at the other players, and any player who sees the wink then say: 'the deal is done'. It is up to the cop to say who the dealer is. For each wrong guess, the cop must drink for 10 seconds"

"Let's bring it down to 5"

I really don't want to get hammered tonight.

Someone mumbles 'killjoy' between coughs, but Dianna supportively says "No, that's only right, guys. Otherwise we girls will get drunk in no time".

"O-kay. So players can bluff and pretend they saw the wink even if they haven't which makes it a lot more fun. But if the cop sees the wink, the dealer must drink for 10… oh whatever, 5 seconds"

Mark pours a cup of Screw Driver for each of us, and then sit in a circle in the living room.

We start playing, and after a lot of: "Licking your lips doesn't count as a wink, Jenna", or "Dianna, I know you're bluffing to try and make this fun, but I'm sure I cannot have winked because I am the cop", or "I wonder who's the asshole who gets to do the cop this round. I mean, the dealer is being so obvious" followed by a hurt "Hey! I resent that!" by Chris, which obviously gave him away and we had to deal the cards again… we finally get bored because we obviously can't play this game.

Kevin, suddenly excited, says: "This brings us to a much easier game. Never Have I Ever!"

Everybody cheers and we refill our cups.

"I'll start because I proposed this game. Never have I ever… got it on in public."

Mark, Naya, a furiously blushing Millie and a smirking Amber drink.

"Never have I ever… been arrested."

Only Cory drinks this time: "I should actually just gulp down the whole bottle here."

A beaming Jenna says: "Never have I ever… kissed a person of the same sex."

Oh well, same old Jenna, same old. Dianna, Chris, a surprising Naya and I drink.

At this point, Kevin says: "Dianna? Lea? Naya? That's… nice."

"Alright, my turn now, let's make things interesting. Never have I ever… kissed someone who's in this room"

Someone grunts, but eventually Dianna, Naya, Mark and I drink.

Amber, the one that asked the question, says: "Wait! Which combinations? Because there are three girls and one guy here"

Naya swats Mark's thigh, in a violent attempt to claim him, and I sheepishly look away, blushing. Apparently, Dianna's cheeks are flushing aswell, because Amber turns silent for a second, blinking her eyes, finally clear with realization, and yells "GOOD GOD, PEOPLE!", shaking her head in disbelief.

Mark mutters a really quiet "I knew there was something going on there, with that dancing in close proximity" to me, and Jenna is beaming like an idiot. I mouth 'You're an idiot' to her, and look at Naya, who is positively smirking at Mark.

Cory is grinning at us like a Cheshire cat; Amber is just happy that there's something to talk about, Kevin is quite intrigued, and Chris is twinkling at us. He eventually says:

"We should name the couples! Like Brangelina, or Chair!"

"What the hell is 'chair'?"

"Duh. Chuck Bass and Blaire Waldorf"

Mark is still dumbfounded.

"From Gossip Girl? No?"

Mark shrugs, and Chris exhales frustratingly.

"I'm pretty sure it's Waldass, though. Chair sounds… inanimate"

"Naya, there's no point in fighting over this. It's Chair and the fandom has spoken. So what should we name you?"

I'm snorting, Dianna is finding her shoes incredibly interesting, Millie is looking at her friend with glinting eyes, Mark is slithering his hand on his mohawk, and Naya is still mouthing 'Chair' in a confused daze.

Kevin yells "Sallingvera!"

"Or Rivering?"

"Maya?"

Everyone glares at Chris, who mouths 'sorry, sorry' with wide eyes and an annoyed look.

"How about… Nayark?"

"It sounds like a bark or a weird specimen of sharks"

"You people are hard to please!" Chris shrieks, sounding annoyed and frustrated.

"Sallingvera should be just fine! God, you guys!" Naya's laughing.

"What about these two?"

"Lianna?"

"I'm pretty sure it's a film about lesbians, which is only fair, but it's a sad film"

"Dea?"

"Like Drug Enforcement Administration? No please, that sounds like something I'd have to deal with a few years ago"

Everybody looks at Cory, eyes bulging out of their sockets.

Eventually Amber tentatively says "Migron?"

Chris replies "Isn't that a city near Jerusalem?"

"What the actual fuck, people?"

Naya's getting annoyed with all of this fuss about us.

"ACHELE!"

Everyone's eyes snap back at Jenna, who is now standing up, holding her fist in the air proudly.

The others nod in silent agreement, and I'm just getting tired of this conversation, so I grab Dianna's hand, lead her to her bedroom (trying to ignore the yells of 'Yeah Lea!" or 'If I hear screaming I'm going to walk in to check if you two are okay… just to check'), and shut the door behind us.

The moment we are alone in the room, Dianna walks into me, pushing me back against the door and practically bringing us in a position where her body is up against mine.

_Oh my God, send help down here._

"I've wanted to kiss you all night"

I mutter an unconvinced "Really?", and she whispers: "Yeah… Your lips do things to me."

_Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!_

I whisper "Your voice does things to me", because _really_, fuck me if that isn't true, and then she finally kisses me, sliding her lips against mine, moaning in the feeling while I'm swooning.

When she sucks on my lower lip, I involuntarily crash my hips against hers, and her loud, low-pitched moan just shoots me up to Heaven and slams me back down, in the eerie realization that Dianna is kissing me.

I need to do something.

_React, Lea! _

I swing her around, grabbing her shoulders, and pinning her against the door. She whimpers when I accidentally slip one of my legs between hers, trying to keep her in place.

I slide my hands down her shoulders, settling one firmly on her hips, tracing gentle patterns through the thin fabric of her t-shirt, and one on her stomach.

_Fuck, I do have a thing for her abs._

* * *

><p><em>Oh sweet, oh sweet glorious defeat!<em>

Lea slides her tongue against my mouth, asking for access, and as I finally part my lips, and let our tongues touch, a marching band starts playing the Four Seasons by Vivaldi in my mind, and a lightning bolt flashes through me, leaving me in a poor state of balance.

She moans and groans and _goodness gracious,_ she bites on my tongue.

I can't stand still anymore, so I cup her nape with one hand, letting the other roam on her body freely until-

"Do you girls need anything? Some snacks… a dildo? Let me know! Oh, God love you!"

Mark is just outside my bedroom, yelling at us with a high-pitched impression of a woman, clearly Regina's mum from Mean Girls, with a version of her line adapted to our… circumstances.

_F- YOU MARK._

We slowly – and unwillingly – part, taking a few steps back from eachother, just to be sure. I fix her mussed up hair, and she tugs down at the hem of my t-shirt to flatten it (actual compressing could have been cataclysmic).

When I finally lock my eyes with hers, I find myself enamoured of the sight. Her deep, immense, chocolate-brown irises are piercing through me, with an intensity and strength I'm growing to love. I used to hate when people look at me intently, trying to read my feelings – I always thought 'There is a reason if I'm not speaking right now. I'm thinking, I'm taking my time, and it's supposed to be private!".

But when she eyes at me, trying to work out what the hell is going on inside my head, the urgency of that look… I feel like giving up and finally let her unravel me, let her take a piece of my heart and make it her own because there's something glorious about the way that she can make me feel less defensive, just by glancing at me.

After what feels like a lifetime, Lea slowly curves her lips up and reveals her teeth in a stunning grin which silently heals everything that's ever gone wrong in my life, and says: "Come on my Regina, we have to go back in your living room or I'm sure Millie will sue me for kidnapping her best friend and hiding her beauty away in some dark room".

And just like that, we walk back to the living room, where the guys are luckily very focused on a game of spin-the-bottle which right now has Jenna and Kevin making out.

"How many times do we have to say it's enough? I'm pretty sure seven minutes is a time required for another game" Naya mutters, eventually pulling them apart by force.

So the party slowly comes to an end, when everyone is eventually tired enough to decide it'd be better to go home. Naya starts mumbling nonsense instead of speaking, Cory is just frantically checking his phone for new texts or missed calls with blood-shot eyes, Mark just yawns and yawns, Kevin just keeps nodding off, Chris starts tripping over flat surfaces, Amber's chin is on her chest, already in a slumber, and Jenna is looking into clearly empty cups, checking if there's any alcohol left to drink.

Millie and I decide that we can call it a day, and send everyone home.

Lea lingers a bit in my hallway, waiting for everyone to walk out of my apartment, and for Millie to eventually leave us some private time, shuffling her feet on the floor and mumbling a slurred 'G'night you guys, I need some Morpheus and his loving arms, me'.

I laugh at the unbelievability of her cutesy sentence, and turn to look at Lea.

"I had an amazing night! It was so much fun. Even being outed by a drinking game and being given a portmanteau couple name eventually turned out to be fun"

She smirks at me, hinting at what happened in my bedroom.

"I'd like to see you more often. I'd like to go on dates with you, hold the door for you when you enter a building, drive you home, take your goodnight kiss, and subtly look at you while we watch a movie together."

She blurts this out, suddenly very serious, like she does when she's so excited or nervous about something that she just can't hold that in. I love this about her. Who am I kidding, I love everything about her.

"I'd like to walk through a building entrance while you hold the door for me, be driven home, freely give you my goodnight kiss, and subtly pretending I don't know you're looking at me while we watch a movie together".

She leans in to take my goodnight kiss, and it's so sublime, so wonderfully trembling and chaste and tentative and nervous… Ah, the beauty of panic-struck first kisses. When your own vulnerability scares you to death, but you just can't hold up your suit of armor. When you feel it getting inside of you, making its sly way through your rib cage, hitting your lungs first so that the first thing you forget to do is to breathe, and next it's slitting your heart open, letting blood, and emotion, and feeling, and passion pour out, until you can sense it everywhere, in every cell and in every vessel.

And then, then is when you know you're utterly effed.


	10. Lady Di & her Brown Eyed Girl

**Guys guys!**

**Ok, sexxxy times ahead (don't get delusional, it's still too early for **_**that**_**), but also serious conversations. They are learning to get and understand each other. Also, fluff, fluff, fluff.**

**Sorry it's a short one, but I couldn't think of a nicer ending to it than this. Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 10 – Lady Di and her Brown Eyed Girl**

As the mornings get colder, and the nights get foggier, we easily find comfort in each other's presence, and we settle in each other's life more and more easily.

We watch films, eat out in fancy vegan restaurants, stop in coffee shops, go at the movies, walk on the city pavements with our arms linked, stroll around the park near Lea's apartment on Sundays, and we talk.

We talk and share our life experiences and quirks: what really drives Lea crazy about original record players ('that lovely buzzy and scratchy sound when the song is about to start!'), what kinds of animals I like (the ones you can't really keep in a home unfortunately, like elephants, cangaroos, wombats, octopuses and snakes), what can calm Lea down when she's nervous before a performance ('coffee calms me down in those moments, apparently'), what I love about photography (having a snapshot of a memory), what she hates about New York ('horse carriages, they're horrible!'), what I hate about LA (no family here).

What could have been weird at first, or not easy to deal with, turns out to be the most natural thing in the world, just because of Lea's carefreeness.

Walking around the city with Lea linked to my arm, while she's throwing her head back with a loud, brash laugh, is the simplest and yet most intense experience: it gives me a sense of thrilled freedom I just can't explain.

We only kissed in public once: it was a particularly sunny day, and the thick morning mist diffused the light in a way that was almost painful to the sight, so it had me squinting my eyes and twitching my mouth in an ugly grimace. She was talking about some thing or another, when she suddenly looked at me like she just saw me for the first time: she grabbed my arm and yanked at it until we fell against a big, tall bush, with our bodies slammed flush together. Lea looked around her for a second, just to make sure that we were not going to shock any septuagenarian, or inevitably impact on the innocent childhood of some little kid, and then she crashed our lips together, in a fervor that I took a minute to return fully. There was definitely nothing tentative about this, and as her hands languidly slid across my stomach I became fully aware of the thrills she was shooting down to my below-the-waist area. As I felt her swollen lips encircling my tongue and sucking lightly, my awareness turned into urgency and the urgency turned into public indecency. No, I'm just kidding there, but it could've been, if Lea would've kept on doing her ministrations at that quick pace. And just the realization of that makes me tremble in the knees.

* * *

><p><em>Around the end of November, 2008<em>

When Ewan McGregor is trying to explain fully what he means by 'poetry' to a moaning and whimpering Nicole Kidman on my tv screen, as we watch Moulin Rouge, I take a quick, side-look at Dianna.

She's silently giggling, her raspberry-coloured lips slightly open, enough to show her teeth in a cute grin.

We're laying on my couch, our fingers intertwined, my back partly resting against Dianna's front, our legs outstretched, my right ankle sometimes brushing against her left ankle. We are at that point of confidence and comfortableness with each other, and it's really so easy.

Her chest is heaving underneath me, her breath so even and quiet, and I can feel her heart thudding against her ribcage. She's thin, but her heart is thumping so heavily that I'm afraid it might jump out of her.

When Ewan McGregor belts out in the first lines of 'Your Song', I turn fully to look at her, laying my head on her shoulder and looking up to find her now serious expression.

Her twinkling irises flicker when Nicole Kidman raises an intrigued eyebrow at Ewan McGregor, and she registers the presence of my stalking glance. She turns to look at me with fluttery eyes, asking 'What's up with those puppy eyes, Lea?' in a quiet whisper, as though the actors on the screen might hear her and feel disturbed by the interruption.

I snuggle in the crook of her neck, singing softly 'Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen' against her skin, in synchrony with Ewan's voice coming out of the tv speakers.

Her hands rake through my hair, and I'm really glad I kept them down today. She tilts down to kiss the top of my head, her hands still in my hair, and she whispers "I'm sentimental about many things. One of them happens to be your voice. It recently made it in my Top 5."

I just have to ask her, I'm a curious being.

"What are the other things you're sentimental about?"

"Music, indipendent nice romantic films, my childhood memories, and your eyes."

I linger in the thrilling sensation of having someone I feel so much for, actually reciprocating, I tug her scoop neck shirt down a bit, and I chastely kiss her collarbone.

She delicately fists my hair in approvement, and I open my mouth a bit, and kiss her on the same spot over and over again, celebrating the light taste of peach of her skin.

I whisper "Why does your skin taste of peach?" against her collarbone, in between kisses, and she quickly answers in a murmur: "Body lotion".

I tentatively lick, to taste better: Dianna's breathing becomes ragged, and her fingers in my hair become less gentle.

The light gasps I'm eliciting from her only urge me further, so I kiss her collarbone with my mouth open, and then suck lightly. A loud moan pours from her mouth, and I tilt my head up to look at her.

She is a vision. Her head is thrown back, her neck is arched in its glorious shape and muscle lines, her hair are tousled from laying on the couch, her eyes are tightly shut with light wrinkles framing them, her brow is furrowed and her mouth is hanging open.

"Oh my God… You look so… hot" I blurt out, in a mutter.

She looks at me for a second, and then she spins me around so that I end up laying on the couch, with her on top of me.

_Fuck. I am going to die and it's going to be spectacular._

* * *

><p>What she just did to my collarbone… I just can't explain what it did to me. Ok, maybe I could explain, but I would be quite vulgar and graphic so… better not.<p>

I focus back on the amazing creature lying underneath me: her hair is sprawled on the couch cushion, dark, heavy-lidded fluttery eyes are lazily blinking at me, her cheeks are flushed, and her swollen lips are to die for.

I lean down and in, to kiss her. She moans and –_ Oh my goodness her moans are just as good-sounding as her singing voice -_ and I take my opportunity to slip my tongue in. The sensation elicited by this is exactly the one I had when she first kissed me in public, at that park.

She nips at my tongue and I involuntarily grind my hips into hers.

Her moan is loud this time, and she grinds back.

_Goodness gracious this is going fast and it's brilliant._

She suddenly flips me around so I'm now sat on the couch, straddled by Lea, whose thighs are exposed (thank God she wore a dress today), so I rake my fingers on them, feeling shivers erupting from my touch, and whimpers pouring from Lea's mouth.

I dip forward to her neck, peppering it with kisses and then slowly licking her column up to where it meets the base of her jaw. She moans '_Fuck' _again, so I nip at her, and then move down again in a wet trail of open-mouthed kisses to where her pulse point is, and there I suck her.

"Ohmygodohmygod"

She pushes her hips into me and I see stars, so I grind back, almost in reflex.

"Fuck, Di!"

Shit, this is going too fast.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry!"

I back off a bit, scared that I might have gone too far.

I'm not like this usually! I'm not this wolverine, predatory person around the people I like. I always take my time to enjoy physical contact to a person I'm attracted to, because I need to trust them in the first place. But Lea is… well she's beautiful, obviously, but her is a kind of a turn-on. When she throws her head back in a brash laugh, or when she drops her voice in a much lower pitch when she's finishing a sentence, or when she says 'Dianna', stretching out the first syllable and rolling the 'Dia'… she drives me crazy.

"I'm so sorry Lea! Are you okay?"

"I'm more than okay. I'm super okay. I'm ecstatic."

She sits beside me on the couch, with her legs tucked under her. She's all serious now, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, sometimes darting her tongue out to wet her mouth: she's obviously deep in thought, I can see it in the fathomless intensity of her eyes.

"Lea, listen… I'm not usually like this. I'm sorry"

She's still worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, but she appears not to be listening.

"You're not usually like this. Okay. You're so- What? Pardon me, but what would you be sorry for?"

"I attacked you!"

"You didn't. I was the one sucking on your neck-"

This distracts me for a second.

"And then I did it to you! I attacked you!"

"Exactly. Dianna Agron, let me introduce you to… foreplay"

"But I attacked you!"

"Stop saying that, 'attacked' doesn't even sound like a word anymore right now."

"…Okay."

She eyes me intently for a second, and then murmurs:

"I'd like to be attacked more often, actually"

"I attacked you! Sorry, just kidding the – wait, what?"

She chortles and then she says, more decidedly:

"I happen to like it when you… lose control. It brings you down to a more earthly level."

"What do you mean?"

'Earthly'? Being raised and fostered by aliens? These people are confusing me.

"Well… You live in your own world of amazing and I'm down here, admiring you from where I stand, and sometimes… sometimes I feel like I don't get you fully, that there's more to you than it meets the eye."

This has happened to me before, but with boys. They can be quite thick sometimes (not all of them, obviously) when it comes to reading a woman's mind. I've always seen this as 'they are men, we are women, you don't completely understand us but that's fine anyway, we love each other anyway'. So it's not about boys ultimately. Am I an unreadable soul or anything? Because I have friends. They get me.

"But why?"

"You… you read books, collect cds, you have a way with words, you're sweet, endearing, beautiful, and you have this silly, dorky sense of humour… Do you happen to have any shadow in your character? Because we've been dating for around a month, and all I've seen so far is light, and I feel like I'm not getting my head around it completely."

Ok, it's time to talk about it.

"Lea… Lea. There's a reason I had that reaction on the phone some weeks ago, when we were talking about our back-up plans. I said that one of my options was starting my own… MS charity association. That's because…"

Oh dammit. I need time, I need to breathe here.

Lea starts rubbing her hand against my arm reassuringly, and her captivating eyes are encouraging me, so I go on.

"…That's because when I was 15, my dad was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and it happened in a time when things between my mom and dad weren't going so well. They were arguing all the time. This bombshell didn't help to smooth ruffled feathers. Instead, my dad pushed my mom away… he was terrified of hurting his family, and he was tired of the continuous bickering. So my mom backed away. She was terrified of losing my dad, her husband, and she was exhausted of fighting with him. His illness couldn't be the thread that kept their crumbling relationship hold on strong. Everything fell apart. Our relatives took sides. Family dinners weren't the same anymore. My brother Jacob… he was so young. He didn't really understand what was going on, and I didn't have the heart to explain it to him fully. At that age, you don't really see mortality in your parents, we were scared. I had to be the glue that kept my family together, I had to play the therapist. And it was hard. I kept inviting my dad and his side of the family over for our family dinners, but they ended in stern looks, untouched food, small talk and ceremony. After years of late-night phone calls, heated conversations and shaking heads, my family started getting closer together back again, mainly because the awareness of my dad's disease was dawning on us. And that's about it. I'm usually very secretive about this, because it still hurts so much to talk about it… But I wanted to let you know, so that you can probably understand me a little better. I'm not a beaming sunshine of a personality. In fact, I am about the opposite. I like cemeteries, skulls, the gruff voice of Tom Waits and his sorrowful lyrics, Tim Burton and his gloomy atmosphere, Thom Yorke's melancholy… I don't usually show that part of me to another person until I get comfortable with them, because my quirkiness can be quite bizarre sometimes, and in the past it has scared off some people. I'm not really sorry for this part of me, and I can't deny that I revel in my oddity sometimes, but that's because that makes me who I am, and for once… I get to decide of a part of my life and I get to think about myself. It makes me feel so _free_… Like I have control over a side of my life, like I can get to finally live honestly for myself, and not for somebody else."

* * *

><p>I feel the need to hug her right now, so I do. I hold her, snuggling my face in her hair, lightly tracing random words like 'love', 'life', 'family' on her back with my fingers, in what I hope is a soothing manner.<p>

I breathe in the scent of her hair, and whisper "How's your dad now?". I'm almost afraid to ask, but I need to know if he's still in her life.

"He's… relatively fine. MS is an inflammatory disease, in which the myelin sheaths around the axons of the brain and spinal chord are damaged, leading to a broad spectrum of signs and symptoms. It can either strike quickly in discrete attacks, or slowly accumulate over time. My dad has a progressive form, which means that the disease is slowly advancing in his body."

"How do you know…" I know this question is dumb the moment it pours out of my mouth, so I let it peter out, hoping she didn't hear me. But she did.

"I googled everything when I was 15, and I basically studied the disease on Wikipedia. I've been keeping a notebook since then, where I write down typical symptoms, drugs that can alleviate the pain, names and contacts of famous MS specialists around the country. I keep updating it because the research has gone a long way since my dad was diagnosed. So that if there's a new treatment, I can ask his physicians if it would be beneficial to his condition. Luckily he was diagnosed quite early, so he has been undergoing a treatment ever since. That delayed the moment when he would have to be put in a wheelchair, where he is now."

I smile a bit.

"He's a brave warrior"

"Yeah… he is"

I love holding her, even though I'm smaller and I really feel like she's holding me. Her hair are thin and yet they smell intensely of tropical fruit.

"You're like a fruit salad, your skin tastes of peach and your hair smell of tropical fruit."

She giggles, and I take a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad I finally told you about this. I felt like I was hiding a part of myself to you."

I kiss her shoulder, and then back away a bit to look fully at her, sliding my hands to her lower back.

"So, lady. How about we watch some cute videos about puppies to get cheered up a bit, before you leave?"

She smiles endearingly, and I blush a little for the nickname I slipped in.

"… You already get me so well. Why do you get me so well?"

The sweetest pair of honey-coloured eyes are glinting at me, with a charm I can only associate to Audrey Hepburn's own. You know, those kind of eyes that would only look for the good in others. And if you ever were lucky enough to lock your gaze with her, those eyes would make you feel like you must have done something really good in your life, to have them there staring back at you.

"Because I love my lady Di."

It's quite simple really. When something so great bursts into your life so powerfully, messing you up so beautifully that you can't even fight it… I just can't help but tell her. How can I not tell her? I fell in love with her faster than I could run to my door when she knocked. And that's pretty fast.

Her honey eyes smile back at me, with an intensity I've never seen in her. Not until now.

"I love you too, brown eyed girl."

* * *

><p>She's staring back at me, her improbably enormous irises are pensive, flickering between my left and my right eye, trying to detect any trace of a lie, or of an obliged answer.<p>

She doesn't find any. She can't find any.

I love her with the same abandon I love music and its splendid way of crashing my soul and leaving me breathless.

"Say that again."

She whispered it.

"Brown eyed girl?"

She giggles, her eyes squinting a bit. She looks like a younger version of herself when she laughs, all carefreeness and chortles and breathy 'haha's.

"The other thing, silly"

We eye each other for a moment.

"I love you?"

"You guess? You don't know?"

"I love you. Positive statement. Ringing affermative. I love you."

Her mouth stretches in an improbably big grin, all teeth.

She tilts her head down for a second, softening her grin in a captivating smile, then she looks back up at me.

"I love you, too"

My brown eyed girl.


	11. The darkroom

**Chapter 11 – The darkroom**

_1st December, 2008_

"Jon?"

I look at my best friend's eyes, staring back at me from the entrance hall of my apartment.

"What the HELL are you doing here?" I ask him, through a huge grin and a few tears of joy, enveloping him in a tight hug.

"I'm crashing at your apartment since my best friend won't even talk to me on the phone!"

I know he's annoyed. I haven't been returning his calls lately.

I'm still bracing my arms against his broad shoulders, reveling in his scent. He smells of New York and of the theatre where we performed: the cracks on the wooden floor of the stage, the the overly lit backstage changing rooms, the often forgotten ballet shoes crowding the backstage halls, so that we would often trip over them, screaming obscenities at the owner. He also smells of his apartment on Sunday afternoons, coffee brewing, and a loud, pre-recorded laugh belting out of the TV speakers, announcing that something like Friends or Will & Grace is on. He smells like home.

"Jon, I'm so sorry! I've been shooting Glee, doing promotional photoshoots, recording the voice-overs for some scenes for the Pilot, meeting up with Dianna and the Glee kids… I've had a pretty hectic couple of weeks."

I break the hug, to look at him fully. He's still scowling at me, his brows furrowed and his chin crinkled, his whole face corrugated in a deep frown. He's a sight to behold: he's standing so proud and so fierce before me, with his arms crossed across his broad chest, the upper part of his body puffing out in annoyance, his stern eyes meeting mine halfaway through the entrance hall. His gaze meets mine for a few seconds, and he finds it hard to keep a straight face. He breaks into a broad grin, his perfect features now beaming with euphoria. I love my old man.

"It's just that you've been missed. A lot."

"Really? You've been missed too, puppy eyes"

I've always told him that, '_puppy eyes_'. He has these big blue eyes, very round and very cartoon-like, framed by thick, short eyelashes: they really stand out against his pale complexion. When he came along with me to visit my family during weekends or to celebrate holidays in New York or when they invited him to dine out with us, my mum would call him 'baby blues', and he would blush every single time, like a little kid.

I bow at him, inviting him in. He picks up his small backpack by a strap, and throws it over his right shoulder.

"How long are you staying for?"

"Not long, Lea. The Shakespeare in the Park summer production of Hair was great and it payed well, but I have to be New York by Thursday because I have an audition for this new film, 'Taking Woodstock'. But you'll come in New York for Christmas, right? Or Hanukkah, or whatever you ethnically mixed people celebrate."

"'Ethnically mixed people'? Groff, I resent that" I say, pouting at him and poking his chest with my index.

He tosses his backpack in a corner of my living room, takes his jacket off, and plops onto my couch, kicking his boots out of the way.

"Yeah, make yourself comfortable."

"Okay."

He sprawls across my sofa, making sure to cover any seat, and to take all of the cushions for himself.

"Oh, don't worry, you're welcome. Feel free to sit down wherever you want." I laugh at him.

"That's what I was doing." He smirks back at me, his eyes glinting with provocation.

"Clearly. So, how is life in New York these days?"

"Well, the Statue of Liberty is still there, and so are the hordes of closeted gays on Broadway. You hear them backstage talking about how many girls they brought home throughout the week, and then you meet them in gay bars on Friday nights, dancing like mentals, clearly off-their-faces drunk, with big black gentlemen all over them."

"Come on, J, it's Broadway. You know how these things go. How was your date?"

"My date is one of the closeted gays, talking backstage about how many girls he brought home…"

"Oh, Jon I'm so sorry about that…"

"Yeah, well, I should've seen it coming. He's ashamed of himself, and he doesn't even want to be seen around with another man. I do know that it's Broadway. I just thought that for once… oh, nevermind. Not that I really liked him or anything. How is your life here?"

I pout a little, and give his curled hair an affectionate tousle.

"It's hectic, but really really good."

"Yeah?" He eyes his surroundings for a moment, finally taking in my apartment.

"You're going to keep this apartment? It looks pretty expensive…"

Oh shit! He doesn't know about it yet! I totally forgot to tell him.

_Bad Lea, you're bad_.

"Oh, yeah, actually… I'm moving out in January"

"Where to?"

"Uhm. I found a girl who lives in a rented apartment in West Hollywood with a friend of hers, who's moving out in December, so I'm moving in. We are going to share the rental."

"Who's this girl? You never tell me about anything!"

"She is… Dianna."

"Oh drat. Is she? So you're going to live together? How is it going with her?"

I fill him in with the latest news, making sure not to leave anything out this time.

"So you two are happy and in love! Oh, my little gold nugget!"

He stands up, and scoops me up from the back of my legs, lifting me up in the air and over his shoulder, like a pirate claiming a female hostage. I love it when we play and fight, squabbling around like children over silly stuff, and just generally behave badly.

"You stop that Jon! I'm a grown adult, I can't be thrown around like this! I won't accept it!", but he doesn't buy it. How could he? I'm laughing my heart out.

"Like you have any choice in the matter, pygmy. God, you're just as small as I remembered!"

I vocalize "Boy taller than me by only three inches, say what?" in a deep Tennessee accent, and I swat his butt, he scowls and as revenge, he starts spinning around my living room in broad circles, still with me draped over his shoulder.

"Jon I'm going to throw up on my living room carpet! This is not okay!"

He stops abruptly, my stomach jolts for a second. He pratically tosses me back over again, so that I land on my couch with a huffed 'Shit'.

Someone knocks on my door. I recognize the little 'thud-thud-thudthud': it's typically Dianna.

My glance darts at Jon for a second, and I can see he just guessed who's at the door just by catching the light twinkle in my eyes. I recognize that little filthy provocative smirk. He is up to no good.

I raise a finger before me, trying to make my point. "Jon! Jon, don't you dare-"

And he's off.

He darts off the living room, still shoeless, slipping over the smooth surface of my apartment hall, falling down and standing back up again, and I run like my life depends on it.

We both crash against the font door, and I hear a faint 'Lea? Is everything okay?'.

I unlock the door, and there she stands, all honey-coloured eyes, in her typically early 50's Hollywood demure.

* * *

><p>Lea is in a hoodie, yoga pants and socks, running her hands through her messy hair. You could see that her hair had been iron-curled, but it's now tousled like she'd just run a race. She's panting aswell, but grinning like a child in mischief.<p>

"Lea? What's happened to you?"

She takes a side step, still beaming, letting someone appear on her doorway.

"Jon? Are you Jon?"

"In person, m'lady"

He stands proud, with his right arm braced over Lea's shoulders, offering his left hand to me.

"I'm so happy to finally meet you, this girl here speaks of no other but you" I say, shaking his hand.

"My pleasure. And, I've heard an awful lot about you, myself."

"So… why do you both look like you've just run a race?"

"Because we did!"

Jon is beaming. His appearance is somewhat protective towards Lea, in a typically manly, chivalrous way: his shoulders are broad, his chest is a bit puffed out, his face looks like the one of a funny, nice-looking cartoon, like he's just jumped out of The Incredibles to materialize here. His eyes are bright of a clear cerulean blue, a bit glazed of either unshed tears or of pure euphoria. His smile is wide, but is clearly not just a smile. It's a grin, and a mischievous, Cheshire-cat-like one. He looks frisky and playful, like he's just got himself into trouble.

I turn to look at Lea with what I'm sure is a confused expression.

"We both ran to the door because I thought Jon was going to embarass me by greeting you in a really unappropriate way, like I bet his strategy was."

"You have no faith in me whatsoever! I resent that."

"Di, come on in." She says that through a chortle, and I've never seen her this cheerful. Jon's presence somehow recharged her batteries.

We walk into Lea's living room, and we all sit down on the couch.

We speak of silly things, of the way they became friends and what have you.

"You know, we had to pretend to have sex, so he showed his ass and I showed my… breast-"

I have to admit, this distracts me for a while, and sends my mind soaring among beautiful, quite graphic images.

"…So when we met somebody who had seen the show, we asked 'Were you ass or breasts?', because if you were sitting on the right side, you got to see Jon's rear end, and if you were sitting on the left wing, you would see my breast…"

I've zoned out again.

Nevermind that she's laughing heartily at whatever joke Jon said, pushing her shoulders backwards and throwing her head back against the couch headrest.

_This is really not helping Lea_, I want to say.

_Stop pushing your breasts in full vision_,I want to scream.

_Nevermind me, just dying of frustration over here_, I want to grunt.

Lea snaps me off my reverie, scooting closer to me, and I realize Jon has just excused himself to the bathroom.

"Where have you gone?"

"Uh… Nowhere!"

"Come back to me, Di"

She grazes my stomach with her finger, drawing random soft patterns on it, so I scoot closer, and thread my fingers in her hair. It's so soft…

"Does he know about us?"

"Do you think I wouldn't tell my bestfriend?"

"Not everyone is okay with-"

"He's gay."

"Oh! Oh. I see."

"I wouldn't normally out anyone, especially Jon, of all people… but he likes you, and I trust you. Have you told Marisa and Millie? Did you tell Millie before the party at your house?"

"Yes, and yes."

Jon is skipping back into the living room, and I immediately pull my hand off of her hair, and I back away a little, but she wraps her arms around my waist, resting her head against my shoulder, claiming her snuggling spot, so I relax.

I'm curious about this Jon gent.

"I was wondering… how did you get to perform at Broadway?"

"You know, Dianna… I've always wanted to perform on the Broadway stage. The wigs, the makeup, the costumes… and then I'd walk to the theatre."

We break into fits of laughter together with him, but then he gets serious and tells:

"I simply had sex with everyone who was standing in my way."

Lea and I double up laughing, and then Jon says:

"No, but seriously now. I graduated in 2003 from Conestoga Valley High School, which is in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, where I was born and raised. At high school I was in the drama club, and in the concert choir club, and watching musicals quickly became my passion. My parents were really supportive of whatever I wanted to do in my life, so I eventually moved to New York. I had one year and a half of waiting tables until I got cast for my first acting job, as a swing dance captain for the musical "In My Life". I understudied the lead part, so I never performed actually in the role, but it was all good practice. Then in 2006 Spring Awakening came around, and I got cast as Melchior Gabor…"

Lea laughs along and repeats "Melchior Gabor!" in a reverie-like voice, raising her hand to her brows, and faux-fainting on the couch.

Jon explains: "You know, we were supposed to be in love and make out and have sex on the stage…"

I can almost feel my eyeballs rolling out of their sockets, so I compose myself: "How did that work?"

Lea chortles and stands up with Jon, and I regret ever asking that stupid, stupid question.

Lea lays on the carpet, with Jon on top of her, and they start lecturing me about how faux-copulating works on Broadway. Perfect.

"First, we kiss."

And they start making out, laughing all the way through. It's not really… hot making out, it's just sloppy kisses, and laughing in each other's mouth.

"Then, I try to stop him, shocked by the amorality of what we are doing." She speaks with a fake dramatic tone, then she sits up, her hand on her mouth, her expression utterly traumatized.

"But then I talk her into it, using my rebellious charm, and my innovative defense for an independent, self-determining love life."

He lays her down again, sliding his hands along her body, kissing her again in passion, then backing away: he looks at her in the eyes and then he raises his hand, and moves it to her chest, almost cupping her breast.

_Am I allowed here? _I feel like a voyeur.

They really look convincing and cogent: they look like eachother's bodies have been their own home for years, and they really are comfortable with eachother.

They start laughing themselves silly before he can even touch her _there_, until Lea comes and sits beside me again, scooting closer.

Jon stands on his feet, and declares: "I'm sorry, ladies but I must excuse myself. I have to meet with a long-lost friend of mine, we just got back in touch. Also, I bet you two wouldn't mind some privacy, would you?"

I blush furiously, but Lea strokes my arm, so I relax.

"J, you guessed right. Who's this old friend I don't know about?"

"Someone whose name starts with Z and ends with 'achary Quinto'."

* * *

><p>I remember. Old crush, which led to self-abnegation and drunk, late night confessions about life, and love, and being true to yourself even if that makes you want to throw yourself off a bridge, or kick somebody else in the guts.<p>

"Embrace it", I remember telling him. "Embrace it, because you're amazing, and there's no point in fighting it. You're a special one, Jon. You're special because you're handsome," I would run my hands through his curly hair, "you care about people, you like to listen, you laugh and smile a lot, you make people laugh and smile a lot. I will be here for you whenever you want to talk about it, but just remember: never let anyone tell you you're not special or important. Because you are. You have a talent which is so grand and unique… you have friends, family, you have me…", I remember his face, tears streaming down his cheeks, a tentative, uncertain smile creeping up his mouth, which ended up looking more like a grimace than a grin. "…You have me. And my love for you is just like my scar," I pointed at my forehead, "ugly, but permanent." And he chuckled, because it was Will & Grace all over again.

But right now, he's standing before me, his chest puffed out – he does it a lot, but it's mainly because his mom often told him to 'stand upright!'– all smiles and excited eyes… he's just beaming with pride.

My boy has embraced it.

"Good luck." I tell him, pointing at my forehead.

He's all smiles and puppy eyes. He looks so handsome when he's happy, I just feel my heart clench with bliss.

"Thank you. It's been a pleasure to meet you, Dianna. You look lovely. I'll see you guys around when I get back., and if not… have a good night you two."

He puts on his boots, motions to give Dianna a kiss on the cheek, and then he stoops down to me, whispering in my ear: "The girl is gorgeous. Those eyes are to die for. I'll be back at midnight.". Then he kisses my cheek quickly, ruffles my hair, and walks to the door, shutting it with a soft 'thud'.

"So he's your best friend. He looks all kinds of amazing."

"And he is. You know, I never had any friend in high school that I could legitimately call my 'best friend'. And then he happened. We just clicked, right from the first shared laugh."

"That's incredible. I met Marisa and Millie quite by accident, I'd call it 'serendipity'. We all got stuck in an elevator together when we were 18. I was applying for an audition for a filming job in San Francisco, Millie was trying to meet a friend of her father's who was a lawyer, and Marisa was applying for a photography contest, and we happened to be in the same building for different purposes. We got stuck in that elevator and we started cracking up jokes about the hilarious situation: how we had to be there for incredibly important reasons regarding our future, and how that moment when the elevator lights had flickered and the machine had bumped into a stop was life telling us: 'Well, you know what? You're not going to have what you want today. Not today'. And at the end of that misadventure I thought 'I just have to keep in touch with these gals'."

"So Marisa is a photographer?"

"She is. She introduced me to photography. I liked to look at pictures before, but when I attended her first photoshoot, all I wanted to do was grab a camera and take a snapshot."

"Now that you made me think about that… we've often spoken about photography but I've never seen any of your pictures…"

"Well, some of them are hung on my bedroom walls, so you've seen those."

"Wait. The boy with painty hands… the octopus graffiti, the girl looking at the dog looking at roasting chickens… the trapeze in the circus arena… You shot those."

"Yep."

"How the hell did you find those things?"

She answers with a shrug: "The boy with painty hands is one of my cousins, messing around with paint at a family dinner. The amazing octopus graffiti was on a wall in San Francisco. I found the girl, the dog and the roasting chickens one day, by pure accident, when I was strolling around with Marisa in the outskirts of Palo Alto, looking for a photoshoot set she could use. About the trapeze in the circus arena… I went to see a circus show once, and I loved it. I asked the owner if I could stop by until the arena was empty so I could catch the trapeze in the darkness… and so I did."

"What kind of camera do you have?"

"I have a Panasonic LX3, which is small, and can be really useful when I'm just walking around the city. Then there's my analogue camera, which is the Diana F+. It is my pride and joy. My dad had the original Diana, but it was on the blink. I loved his camera and the pictures he shot with it, but the original Diana production stopped in the 1970's. So he bought the 2003 version of his Diana for me: the lightweight plastic body, the simple shutter, the analogue photography… All of the original characteristics were kept intact. I was instantly smitten."

She's beaming with enthusiasm.

"…I want to see your other pictures."

"Well, I'm having another film stock processed tomorrow evening, so we can eat at some restaurant and then go to the darkroom. So you can experience the magic event of film developing."

"…I'd love that!"

* * *

><p><em>2nd December, 2008<em>

If you've ever been to a darkroom, it's probably an experience you remember quite clearly. Maybe it's the chemical smell, or maybe it's the miracle of holding memories as your captives on that pretty kind of glossy paper.

My first trip to a darkroom was with my father: he had a thing for taking holiday pictures and then going to that obscure vast chamber, to see how they turned out.

I didn't understand him back then. I remember whining: 'It smells here, and all this red is hurting my eyes. I don't like it, dad. Why have you brought me here, there's really nothing I can do'. But my dad, stoical and even-tempered as ever (I like to think I got that kind of adult qualities from him), would stoop down to look at me directly in the eyes, and would say: 'I know it can be boring to wait here, but we're waiting for a reason: the pictures will come out soon, and we want to see how they turned out, don't we?'. I used to agree just because I really wanted to spend time with him, and because I often realized I was just wailing.

But I understand him now.

As we walk in my beloved photocenter, I introduce Lea to Barry.

Barry is the photocenter owner, an old man who will never cease to amaze me.

He is about 60, but this is my guess, because every time I ask him, his eyes gain a glaze of formality and austerity, and he goes back to whatever he was doing. But don't be fooled here: he is the nicest man around. You just shouldn't ask him for his age. He gets funny like that sometimes. His face every so often reminds me of Clint Eastwood, but probably it's just because of that stern don't-ask-me-how-old-I-am look. Mostly, his physiognomy is soft: nice cheekbones that stand out, almost making you aware of the bones beneath his skin, nice, gleaming eyes, and a smile which I'm positive stole lots and lots of hearts, back in the days of old. He always wears polos and jeans, which I'm sure is a typically after mid-life practice because my dad has the same kinds of clothes, all similar to one another in their same monotony: they are a reminder of who they were, more to themselves than to anyone else. It's a manifesto, proclaiming 'I was young and hip… now I'm just hip', making them feel just as cool as a middle aged John Travolta or Harrison Ford.

And this Barry Lyndon (you've read right: Barry Lyndon, just like the Stanley Kubrick film. Isn't that crazy?), oh my heart be still, this guy is a day brightener.

He will shove happiness down your throat, even if you've got the blues. He will crack about whatever silly costumer he had in the morning, often the same one ('This guy is crazy, and when you'd think you've reached the bottom of his craziness, there's a crazy underground garage!'), and there you go. You end up laughing. Whether it's a chuckle, a quick giggle, or a guffaw, you just shake off anything that's gone wrong with your day.

And so he says hi to me, as I walk around the counter to follow him into the darkroom. I'm quite of a habituè around here myself: ever since I walked in LA, I wanted to find my own darkroom where I could develop my own film. And when I saw Barry's blue shop window, with 'Snap it! Just snap!' written all over it, I thought this was the place.

He doesn't let every customer in his darkroom. In fact, he doesn't take any apart from me, as far as I know. His darkroom is like his rabbit hole, where all the craziness and wonder take place, and he shares his little rabbit hole with me, and I'm always grateful for that. He sometimes even lets me put on some music, but 'Beware. If I ever hear thumping basses or crazy drum sets blasting from these speakers, I'm turning on the light on every little picture of yours'.

Lovely, lovely old man.

So we get inside the dark room, I shimmy out of my winter coat, and so does Lea. I'm developing simple black and whites today, so it will be quicker. Barry hands me over the negative carrier, then he excuses himself, turns off the lights, and leaves me to work.

"Oh! Didn't expect that." Lea chuckles softly from behind me, enveloping my waist with her arms, her hands now resting on my stomach.

"How does this work?"

"Well…" I say, loading the negative carrier with my film, and closing it with a 'click', "I've just loaded film in the negative carrier. I select the first snapshot, and I expose it onto the sensitized paper using an enlarger."

She watches me moving between machines and levers and switches.

"It looks complex."

"It really isn't, once you perform this a couple of times. It's like learning a dance routine: after some repetitions, your muscle memory does the job."

"What are those?" she says, pointing at the large bottles of chemicals I'm grabbing.

"These are chemicals: they are the ones who do the magic."

I set the picture into the first tray, and I explain: "This is the developer. This is where we get the first glimpse of how the picture turns out. Look carefully."

She rests her head on my shoulder, and I notice she has to stand on her tiptoes to do so. Her hands slip on my lower stomach, almost subconsciously, and I take a deep breath.

_In and out. In and out. What was I doing, again?_

Oh, yeah.

I take hold of the tray, and move it slowly, making the liquid sway from side to side, slowly revealing the picture.

"Di! This is amazing!" Her arms hug my waist tightly, pulling my back flush against her front.

_In and out._

"Told you. And this is just the first step."

"I was actually talking about the picture. It's beautiful."

This is the picture with the kids following their school teachers in the park.

"Thank you."

"This developing kind of reminds me of the Titanic scene where they clean up that old drawing, slowly bringing it to light."

"It did remind me of that aswell the first time I saw this process."

I proceed to finish my work with the first picture, so I start with the second one, showing Lea how to get the trays ready, and how to load the film in the carrier and so forth.

She slowly gets the knack of it, and we start laughing around, making up funny stories about the things I shot.

Through laughter-induced watery eyes, I turn to look at her fully, and the look on her face dries my eyes, my mouth and has a very contrastive effect on a much southern area of my body.

_Hot damn._

Lea's just standing there, a few steps apart from me, with her cheeks flushed, her goddamn fleshy lips now swollen and purple, her pupils fully blown, her eyes dark and hooded, filled with pure, unadulterated want.

_Ohmygod._

She inches towards me, her eyes flickering in the dull red light of the darkroom, shifting her glance between my eyes and my mouth.

_God. GOD._

She pushes her whole front flush against mine, and the sudden connection makes me gasp.

_I need those goddamn lips on me. On mine! I need her lips on my lips._

So I cup her cheeks with my hands, and pull her in a kiss.

_Oh my goodness._

What is this? I've never felt like this in my entire life.

This is just a kiss, I can't get _wet_ over just a kiss.

_Well, get over yourself, Dianna._

She's kissing the daylights out of me, slipping her tongue in my mouth, nipping my lower lip, sucking on my tongue, those talented, talented lips sucking on mine.

I moan loudly, and she gasps, so I take this opportunity to claim dominance. I need to be in control right now, or I'll just crumble to dust.

She finally gives in, and lets me guide the kiss. She moans 'Fuck' some times, and DAMN ME I love it when she swears. I break the kiss, but only to graze the column of her neck with my teeth, and then soothing it with open-mouthed kisses. I suck on her pulse point, and she grinds her hips against mine.

_Holy shit._

Lea backs away all of a sudden, a smoldering look in her eyes.

"I want you."

I smirk, and reply "I'm right here."

She looks frustrated. "No. I want you, in my bed, possibly naked. Have I made myself clear?"

She's the one smirking now. I just blink, and thankfully, she takes that as a 'yes'.

"So collect your pictures, we're done here."

I do as I'm told. We dart out of the shop, after leaving Barry two twenty-dollar bills. He shouts at me 'This tip is ridiculous! Are you drunk or something?", but I don't care.

No, Barry, I'm not drunk.

I'm damn sober and I'm not going to miss this.

As we rush to my car, she stops for a second and moves to my ear, whispering: "Jon's out on a trip to San Francisco to meet some friends. My apartment is free tonight. Will you stay over?"

_Oh my goodness. I don't know. Maybe?_

YES YES YES I WILL.


	12. I like my body when it is with your body

**Here we go with the sexy times. Not safe for work indeed! ;)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dianna, or Lea, or any of the characters or shows or companies mentioned in the story.**

**The title of this chapter is the title of a beautiful poem by E. E. Cummings. **

**Chapter 12 – I like my body when it is with your body**

_2nd December, 2008 - Night_

And so we run out of her car, up the stairs and into her apartment, stumbling over our own feet and laughing at silly things like Leopold smirking smugly at me, and then at Lea, and then back at me, or the little fumbling with the keys of her apartment before Lea finally opens the door with a loud 'Fuck doors, fuck keys', slamming it shut after me, effectively pinning me against it.

"Fuck." Why do I swear? I never swear.

"Wow, I like it."

"What?"

"You swearing."

"Oh. Really?"

"Yeah. I love how you pucker your lips at the 'f', and how your mouth drops open to let the rest of the word roll out. It's sexy as hell."

Oh. Oh!

"Oh God, I said that all out loud, haven't I?"

I laugh, and she catches me mid-chuckle, capturing my lips hungrily and sighing against my open mouth, and my eyes slid shut. I press my lips against Lea's, swinging us around until she's the one pinned to the door. I move my hands to brace myself against the flat wooden surface: it looks solid, strong, surely more stable than me right now. I will need you, sturdy door, you're my friend now.

As she slides her lips over mine her head tilts to the right, almost downtempo, leisurely prolonging that smooth, sweet gliding wonder between our breaths.

She slows the kisses to almost a crawl: I can feel my heart pouding uptempo against my sternum and in my ears and behind my eyelids and in my throat, its thumping uproar emphasized by the ringing silence between us, only broken by ragged breaths or erratic sighs.

I can't think straight right now, and suddenly I forget how to move and kiss and _do _things properly, so I just let Lea happen to me.

And happen it did. Lea starts sliding her tongue against my lips, and my jolt reaction is to open my mouth, and so I do. She slithers her hands to the back of my neck, through my hair, tightening her grasp in a fist, and she pulls her tongue over mine, and suddenly it's an explosion in every single part of my body. I can feel my heartbeat skyrocketing, my mind going fuzzy, my eyes fluttering behind my lids, and my legs melting to the floor.

This is not 'fireworks', people, it's surely not how I would describe this feeling. This is hydrogen bombs, meeting a raging tsunami and a volcano erupting and the fury of Gods being unleashed.

'Fireworks' is feeble. This, this is the most powerful thing in the world. This is _want_, this is _passion_, eagerness, lust, ardor, addiction, craze and agony altogether.

I can't concentrate enough, so I let my body react in the most primal manner.

I move my hands to her nape, tightening my fingers against each side of her neck, pulling her closer, tighter, almost inside me. She sighs in my open mouth, and the vibration shoots right to my center.

"Lea" I sigh, unable to control myself.

She locks onto me again, and then I move my mouth a bit lower, licking the thin line of her jawbone up to her ear. I nib at her earlobe, then sooth it with my tongue, and suck it.

"Oh God. Di…"

I slither my tongue around the shell of her ear, and I kiss open-mouthedly that spot between her lobe and her hair-line.

"Di…" She sounds desperate.

"What" I manage to groan, in-between kisses, slowly inching to her neck.

"I… Oh, fuck."

I effectively cup her nape, and kiss her pulse point and suck her skin, probably leaving mark.

_Oh, God_, will I leave a mark here? Will that show? Will she be able to see it, in the morning?

_God_. I want to touch everything, every inch of her skin, of her hair, of her eyelashes, of her mouth. I want to feel her.

Lea grabs my hips roughly, kneading them, and the feeling of her nails digging in my skin through my blouse unleashes something in me, again.

I moan, loudly, and Lea takes the opportunity to whimper out: "Will we ever move from the door? I don't think I can manage to stand anymore."

I back away a little to look at her: her chocolate anchors harbouring me and my soul are gleaming so close to mine.

When you look at a person from this close – your noses touching, your lips brushing, your foreheads bracing against each other – the realization of this kind of intimacy really dawns on you. I can see every light-brown streak that bands her darker irises, her pupils adjusting to the proximity, her vision moving frantically its focus from my left eye to my right eye, and my reflection in her glazed peepers.

When I look at Lea from this close, I realize that she is an abyss: it gives me chills to think that I'm peeking at a bottomless pit from its edge, and I feel dizzy just by looking inside of it.

* * *

><p>I seize her hand, intertwining our fingers, and lead her to my room.<p>

I feel like a teenager all over again. My hands are sweating, and I wonder 'Can she feel it? And if she can, does it bother her?'

But I can't even mantain that worry, let alone anything else, because so many other worries are crowding it out. I'm worried about the next part, the one that involves kind of maneuvers I've never done to any girl but myself.

Is it going to be different from when I do these things to myself?

Oh God, it is bound to be different.

Am I capable of delivering pleasure to another woman? Am I?

Why haven't I googled these things, why am I not prepared?

I feel like I'm about to be pushed on stage to perform a song I don't know the lyrics to: it's paralyzing.

And the next part of this night looks intimidatingly difficult, unfathomably terrifying, absolutely impossible.

All these thoughts are running – no, they're racing, they're rushing, they're bolting, they're competing for the fucking Olimpics one against the other in my head, as we make our way to my bedroom.

My bedroom, for fuck's sake! I sleep here, here I belt out songs like I have no neighbours – which I have, in case you're wondering, and they can get kind of crazy about my house performances, and not in the good, 'yay a house performance!' way of crazy, but more in the bad, 'let's call the cops and sue the bitch for nuisance' way of crazy – here I dance poorly but enthusiastically to upbeat tunes, here I keep my pictures, even the embarassing ones.

She's entering my life, I think, as I lead her to my room.

Walking to my bedroom with her slender fingers interlaced with my shaky and sweaty ones is one of the scariest moments of my life. I can hear my heart thudding against my eardrum in the ringing silence.

But then we're inside my bedroom (my bedroom, Christ!), so I turn to look at her, and the moment I swing around my feet, she removes her hand from mine, and she moves it to my lower back, pulling me close.

I pant against her, and I'm probably trembling and shaking and shivering and quivering and shuddering and I'm sure I'm managing to gather and channel all of the uncertainty there has ever been on this earth in a living form – me.

"Lea, are you alright?"

She moves one of her hands to my cheek to cup my face, "God, you're _shaking_! Why are you shaking? Have I done anything wrong?"

'Yes!' I want to say, 'Yes, you've got your place in my life and in my heart and soul and I love you so much I can barely breathe, and I'm nervous because I'm already attached to you and addicted to you and I'm afraid you will walk away from my life and leave me as a whimpering mess… And I'm worried I will never be able to meet your sex standard, and I'm afraid I might fall short of the mark, and _do you have any sex standards at all?_ And why the hell haven't I googled stuff?'

But then she sees the haziness in my eyes, and she says "We don't have to do this, if you don't want to-"

"NO! God, I want to!"

She laughs, and I feel a tiny bit embarassed.

"It's just that… I'm nervous."

"About?"

"All this." I say, gesturing to my bedroom door and to my bed and to my closet and to my bedside lamp, but I can see she knows what I mean.

"And I love you, and one day this might not work out, and I know I'll be a mess, and I just can't let you in this deep in my life when I know what might happen, and-"

"So you're nervous because you think that one day this might end, that _we_ might break up."

"Yes, and-"

"Well, if you believe in _this_," and she gestures to my bedroom door and to my bed and to my closet and to my bedside lamp "then you have to allow for things to happen, and you have to allow for things not happening. And you cannot possibly love, without feeling some fear. But to be afraid and to leap regardless… There is such power in that. I don't know what might become of us tomorrow, but I know one thing about me: I love you. And that's not going to change tomorrow, or next week, or probably in the next few years. And I'd never be the one breaking us up."

"Next few years, huh?" I smile a little, with my head tilted to the side. I'm sure I look like a puppy, but she likes it, smiles and lets out a content sigh. It's all I ever needed, a promise, and an assurance.

"Next few years."

"And I'll never break up with you either. Pff, I can't even begin to consider it." I chuckle. It's true. How in the world would I not want those intense hazel eyes staring back at me when I wake up in the morning? How on earth would I not want that perfect mouth whispering sweet nothings to my ear as we fall asleep next to each other? Why would I not want her quirkiness keeping me awake at night because she just _has_ to stay up to listen to a preview of the new Radiohead album, or dragging me around LA because she has seen a nice bench in a park, and she just _has_ to take a picture there because it's sunny today? Why would I not want Dianna, who's so in love with the world, and with bees and dogs and people and weird buildings and vagabonds and street musicians and nicely wrinkled paper and pretty bows on top of glossy boxes? I would never _not_ want her, the woman who made falling in love so easy, effortless, elegant. It was more like _sliding_ into love, _slithering_ into it, a slow, gracious defeat.

"Good. Now can we just go back to the part where we were about to crash on your bed because your legs were wobbly?"

"My legs were never wobbly!"

She looks at me like she can't believe my stubborness, so i just say "Sure can."

And so I dive in, and I start kissing the daylights out of her again. She lets out that content hum again, and the sudden vibration in my mouth shoots down south.

I need things to happen, and fast, or I'll either crumble into dust or just die of sexual frustration. Can you die from sexual frustration? Like… it's so much to handle, you get tachycardia, and you have a heart failure and your lungs cease to function and your brain goes fuzzy until you die? Oh shoot, I can feel my mind is growing dizzier by the second!

_Stop it with the inner ramblind already!_

She pushes my mouth open with her tongue, and slips it inside until she finds mine, and my head goes reeling. She slithers her hands from my shoulders to my lower back, and pushes me in until our bodies are flush together, so I let my hands roam all over her back, landing on her ass. I want to feel her, and at this point, my arousal has reached a point-of-no-return peak, so I just pull her in, grinding our hips together.

"Fuck" she mutters, and that hits my center with a rush of wetness now pooling between my legs.

"Say it again."

"What" she groans against my chin, sliding her tongue on my jaw line.

"Swear again" I whisper, and to encourage her further, I knead her ass cheeks, squeeze and grind against her hips again.

"Fuck. Fu-uck"

"Oh God, yes"

She puts a hand on my chest, and I can feel my heart fluttering underneath her touch: she looks at me for a second – her eyes darker than usual, her irises gaining a shade of brown, her pupils fully blown – and then she presses at my sternum, urging me backwards to my bed.

I silently comply, and when the back of my knees find my mattress I sit, bracing my elbows against the soft surface, waiting for something – anything – to happen.

And _God,_ did it happen.

Dianna pokes at my sternum, then kicks my legs open and stands between my parted thighs, then proceeding to lean down, guiding me up my mattress until we're lying on my bed. And then she straddles me, putting her knees beside my hips. Just the vision itself makes my throat release a strangled groan, but what she does next is what sends my thoughts careening towards obscene imaginary and dirty words and graphic visions: she lowers the upper part of her body against my chest, and she shuffles her hair out of her back, pulling it together in her hand like a loose ponytail, letting it hang down on a side of her neck, dangling just above her chest and her… breasts.

She's wearing a button-down white blouse – quite transparent I notice, now that I can observe it just about three inches away from my eyes – and its three upper buttons are undone: there I can see her breasts, clad in a lace white bra.

"You're… beautiful. You're so beautiful. Take this off." I mutter, tugging at the hem of her blouse.

She smirks, raises an eyebrow and that look suddenly leaves me uncomfortably wet and unbelievably aroused. She moves back, arching her chest while she drags the blouse up her body and over her head, and she tosses the garment to the floor.

Have I died and gone to heaven? This vision is not earthly. I'm sure it cannot exactly be described as holy or religious either, though.

Her collarbones are protruding, and her arms look slender but strong, her chest is heaving before my eyes, drawing my attention to her lace white bra-clad breasts. _Jesus._ Then I notice that she has these light freckles spread across the hollow between her breasts, just below her neckline: I never saw them. I'm enchanted by these little specks scattered across her chest, I just have to kiss her there, and so I do: I pepper her freckles with pecks and erratic open-mouthed smooches, and she suddenly arches her torso, sliding her hands through my hair, tightening her grip when I let my tongue taste her peachy skin.

I can see her tattoo aswell. The words 'Mary had a little lamb' written on the side of her chest remind me of our conversation about childhood that occurred in her bed, only some weeks ago. If I think about that now, that heart-to-heart exchange gains a glazed aura and a sepia shade, like it happens to all important memories when you ponder about how much time changes things. And so much has changed between us: there I was, getting all excited just by kissing her nape, and by finding her hazel eyes staring back at me from her side of the bed. And now, now we're in love, and I'm looking at her nearly naked, glorious upper body, and we're about to _make_ love.

Drat, I feel so thrilled about this all I can barely believe my luck. I focus back on her tattoo, the phrase following a hollow between two of her ribs, scribbled in a typewriter font. It's not vulgar, like many tattoos can be: it's like someone decided her skin was just too perfect and too soft, so he stamped those five words in a neat, old-looking font, but still failed to render it flamboyant. It's still tasteful and beautiful and gracious, it just intensifies her allure, and it reminds me of her child-like side. I love her tattoo.

I feel so enamoured by the stunning sight of her chest I just have to trail my fingers on her ribs, following the soft indentations and the words inked on her skin, and then a soft gasp draws my attention to her eyes again, which I find tightly shut, lightly wrinkled at the sides, her brows furrowed with absorption.

Every move, every sigh, every pant, every moan, every vision only add to the incredible feeling of doing something I've never done before, and while that was terrifying just fifteen minutes ago, the eerie realization that she loves me, and that I can make her gasp just by trailing my fingers on her skin only urges me towards exploring this _new_, _different_, _unfamiliar_, _untried_ territory.

So I take charge, grab her hips and swing her around until she's being laid (ha, ha) by me on my mattress, and I'm the one straddling now. I quickly get rid of my shirt, hoping to God (sorry God, I'm being inappropriate, but if you molded Dianna you'll probably understand me) I'll be sexy enough for this ravishing beauty who's laying under me.

"I'll take this off too. I want to feel you" she whispers to my chest, slithering her hands and her slender fingers from my lower back to my spine to my shoulder blades to my shoulders to my sternum to the hollow between my breasts, flattening her palm and stilling her movements for a while, like she is considering the patch of skin she's caressing.

And then she flicks my front-clasp bra open, in a swift movement of her slender fingers, and I whiggle out of it, shuddering at the suddenly cool air hitting my nipples.

I look down, and there she is: her blonde hair a bit mussed, her honey-colored eyes gaining darker shades, her pouty lips redder and fuller than usual, her mouth hanging slightly open, panting against my sternum. But then, then she moves her hazy gaze to my eyes: her arousal has clouded over her eyes, and her expression is so serious my mouth dries up in a second, and something definitely contrastive happens between my legs.

I'm fucked. Utterly, definitely, completely, beautifully, gloriously, wonderfully fucked.

* * *

><p>"Lea" I sigh against her chest, just because.<p>

"What?" I can hear her whimpering back.

I exhale softly against the smooth hollow of her sternum "Nothing. Just…" I move my hands to the back of her thighs to caress her taut muscles, shifting my glance from her small, perfect rosy nipples and from her full, beautiful breasts, up to look at her in the eyes: I feel her shivering underneath my touch, and she's staring back at me from heavy-lidded, unbelievably enormous chocolate irises. No sex in my life has ever felt this _intense_, or intimate. Every single movement, every single pant or gasp or touch already feels _too_ much, larger than life, unmeasurably deep, and secret, and confidential, and profound. Like it's some kind of arcane, esoteric, clandestine, mysterious revelation which has been hidden away from me for so long, and has now been granted me to be unraveled.

"It's just that it all feels… _incredible_. I've never felt this way before in my life."

"I know. I know" and with that, she stoops down towards me, lowering my upper body to the bed, and she moves her lips to brush mine, only skimming over my skin. The barely-there connection makes me gasp, as she sinks with her hips against mine. I feel the rough texture of her jeans hitting me where I need the most, but I need to feel more.

"Take these off, _please_" I exhale against her neck, seizing her hand and moving it towards my thighs.

She silently complies, and as I shimmy out of my denims, I start unbottoning hers. She stands back up, bracing her knees against the mattress as I fumble with her zipper, suddenly very self-conscious and very aware of where my hands are.

Her own hands come down to help me, tugging at her zipper and pulling it down. She moves back to stand up, and she slides her jeans down her hips, her thighs, her calves and then over her ankles and off.

I'm laying back on my elbows, staring with what I'm sure is a greedy expression. When she tilts her head up to look at me from beneath her eyelashes with such love and lust, I can barely refrain from groaning. She slowly inches towards the bed, proceeding to crawl up to me, as we move back to the headboard, her long legs slithering against the sheets – God said 'Let there be legs' and thus Lea Michele was born. Amen.

I seize her hips and roll her around, so that I'm pinning her down against the mattress, her hands now in mine, firmly holding them down, just above her head.

_God,_ how I love to take control. I have never in my life been a top, as one would put it, but something in her trusting, bottomless eyes makes me want to pin her down and do all kinds of crazy stuff I'd never even dream of doing.

I focus back on the tiny, beautiful creature panting underneath me, and I look at her. Her beautiful olive complexion stands out so gracefully against the red sheets of her bed, her luscious hair are sprawled on her pillow, catching some shades of chestnut-brown in the glow of her bedroom's lamplight. Her bottomless chocolate anchors are moving frantically their focus from my eyes, to my chest, to my hips, to my knees, which are not bracing against the mattress, keeping my hips apart from hers. Her breasts, _oh… my… God_, her breasts are raising and falling with the heaving of her chest, and I just want to taste her skin, so I stoop down, and lick her collarbone, wetly kissing it at the junction with her breastbone: I slither my lips down her sternum, and then I shift my glance to her breasts.

_Hell_. They're raising and falling just beside my mouth, and I can see the small goosebumps caused by the cool, December air which is winding through the thin crack of her windowpanes.

I tilt my head, and I kiss her breast with my mouth open, in no particular spot. But yet she moans throatily, so I repeat my action and the salty taste and the groan pouring out of her full lips send bolts of arousal to my center. I move my free hand to cup her other breast, and the feeling of her soft rosy bud perking up against my palm leaves me wetter and more eager to taste, and to touch, and to let my hands roam.

I decide to pluck up courage and taste her nipple. I close my lips around her rosy bud, sucking lightly and lapping my tongue against it, and she moans loudly, arching off the bed. The sensation alone is incredible, so I repeat the action, gliding my flat palm against the other nipple, and then pinching it softly with my forefinger and my thumb.

"Fuck, Di"

I look at her for a second, with my lips still around her bud. Her eyes are barely in focus, her pupils are fully blown, and she's staring at me from beneath her eyelashes: I suck lightly on her puckered nipple, and she purrs, her full lips stretching in a 'O', her eyes wrinkled shut, her neck arched against her pillow. She moves one of her hands away from my grasp, and she slither her fingers through my hair, threading them through my locks, her nails grazing my scalp like she knows I like. I feel like someone injected some kind of hallucinatory drug, because every touch, every sensation, every sound is amplified, and I'm breathtakingly addicted to _everything_ she does right now.

Lea's hand guides me up until our foreheads are connected, our lips brushing, our chests heaving against each other so that our nipples occasionally touch, and the contact makes a light gasp flurry from my lips.

As I tilt and duck my head to breathe against Lea's mouth, I feel her other hand breaking free from my grasp, so that she's now kneading the back of my thighs. She moves closer, barely touching my lips until I feel them slide against my own. I suck on her bottom lip, and then on her tongue, and I can feel her hands kneading more intently, racing up my thighs and pushing me even closer with a thoaty moan.

I can't keep my own hands still, so as I suck on her tongue again I cup her breast, kneading lightly until I can feel it filling my palm perfectly, and that shoots a flash of electricity down my front. I stroke her quivering stomach with my other hand, slithering my fingers so that she can feel the feather-light brush from my pads. As I move my hand souther, I can feel her panting hard in my mouth, and our kisses grow in a clash of tongues, lips and teeth.

I break the kiss for a moment to look for her tattoo. She's told me about her tattoos, and I've seen the one on her wrist, and the one on her shoulder so far. I shift my glance to her right hip and there it is, a small, light blue bird flying away from her hipbone. I brush my fingertips against the pale ink, and I stoop down to peck it.

She releases a soft gasp, and I quickly move back up to kiss her, swallowing her bottom lip again and again. As she shifts on the spot, spreading her legs slightly beneath me, I remember where my fingers are, and I take the hint: I race my hand down until I'm cupping Lea over her black panties.

Lea moans deep in her throat while she's sucking on my lip, her eyes slammed shut, and the heat and moisture coming from her coat my palm, making me soak instantly further, now a dull pulse shooting down my center regularly. We pant against each other's collarbones for a moment as we reel in our uncontrollable need, while everything else freezes to a jolty halt.

The importance of this moment dawns on us, we feel it as her breast fills my palm, we feel it as her hands knead the back of my legs, gently pushing me down to straddle her thighs, we feel it as her nipple perks up against my flat palm, we feel it as I carefully caress her over her panties in a slow stroke that makes us both purr.

I can feel exactly just how wet she is, I can feel her hard clit licking back as I touch her, and that makes my mind reel and my focus goes blurry for a moment as I bow my back, and I drop my forehead down against her shoulder with a loud moan.

"Di?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"More than. Can I take these off?" I pant, tugging at the hem of her panties.

"_Please_."

Her breathy plea makes me weak in the knees, so I drop down on her legs, straddling her, as she is kneading more insistently my thighs, slowly moving her hands to cup my ass, and squeezing.

"_Fuck_. Okay"

Lea's mouth is immediately on my neck, sucking softly as I finger the hem of her panties, slowly dragging them down the endlessness of her legs, until she kicks them off her ankles completely. I stand back, slithering down her body until I'm looking directly to her center, taking in the sight to behold before me.

The soft pinks and deep reds of Lea, her swollen, spasming clit, and the wetness that instantly makes my blood boil with consuming passion are right before my eyes, and I can finally take in her scent, the musky scent that I learned to detect one day, some weeks ago, at my apartment. I can almost feel my pupils dilating at the smell and at the sight.

_What have I been missing all these years?_

* * *

><p>I can see Dianna's eyes widening slightly, immersed in some thought.<p>

I'm happy to just stare ad Dianna. My beautiful Dianna. With her long eyelashes brushing her cheekbones that tell about a long-lost kind of allure, that kind of elegance and attractiveness you picture being in a 1950's Hollywood movie, partnered by an actor like Robert Redford. My eyes race over Dianna's face, taking in the way her tongue peeks out of her mouth to wet her lips.

I brace my hands against the mattress, raising my upper chest off the bed and I sit up close to kiss her. I can't resist her lips when she looks at me like that.

I can feel one of her hands palming my lower back, supporting me, and I can feel her other palm slowly slithering from my nipples to my stomach, to my…

"Oh… my… God"

"This feels… incredible."

"You're telling me, fuck!"

The feeling of her bare palm cupping me is making me drench her hand, and it's propelling my center to thud with a throbbing pulse, so I move one of my hands to cup her breast, slither the other to her ass cheeks, underneath her blue silk panties – oh how I love her, and her ass, and her – and I tilt my head to suck on her nipple, finally tasting and feeling her.

"Yesss"

The salty taste, the soft silkiness of her skin, and her still hand on my sex urges me further, and my hands become needy, clawing and grabbing and kneading any patch of skin that's left of her. I begin to rock my hips subtly against her unmoving hand, which suddenly seems to be awaken by my motions, and starts gliding on my wetness, between my folds.

"This… this is incredible." I pant out, as I tear her panties away in sheer eagerness, wanting to have no layers, no barriers or restrictions left between us, only skin to skin.

As she straddles my right thigh again, I feel a slick trail of wetness dampening my skin, and she swears loudly. This propels me to kiss her top lip, her bottom, her dimples, her glorious cheekbones, her jaw – can one be turned on by a jaw? Is that considered fetish-area already? – and then I crane my head sideways and delve inside, repeating my exploration over every incredible thing inside.

She tastes like heaven, and a very peculiar scent shuts my eyes with a flutter of my lashes, seeing my life flashing before my eyes. _What have I been missing, all these years?_ Is this kind of sex reserved to chosen ones? Is this kind of love, of obsession reserved to chosen ones?

I'm intoxicated in the most beautiful way, and I knead her ass, and pull her closer to my own sex, feeling her sliding up my thigh, leaving behind a trail of slick wetness.

We both mutter "Fuck!" at the very damp feeling, and she starts moving her hand between my folds again, and I black out for a moment.

* * *

><p>"I hope you know that once we do this, I'm not going to be able to stop. Ever. Having sex with you." She pants out, while I move my hand in a slow, almost crawling pace. As I feel Lea fully for the first time, I imagine it feels like what heroin addicts feel when a full dose injection is shot into their veins. It lights me up with feelings I can't entirely explain. I feel like the lamplight on her bedside table is suddenly a bright glow, and my fingertips tingle with obsession, wanting to feel every different texture, surface, consistency.<p>

"I would never ask you to."

Each spot elicits a different response: here makes her gasp, here makes her whimper, here makes her buck her hips, here makes her rock against my hand, here makes her clench. But here, here makes her crumble.

"This is… this feels… too much! If it feels like this now, what about later? Like, am I going to pass out?"

"Just shut up and kiss me."

And she complies, kissing me, as I slide my lips against hers, moving with all the passion I feel for her. I felt it from the beginning, from the first look in her chocolate anchors, from the first time I saw her drunk, when she kissed my nape and swayed behind me singing in my ear, from our first kiss and from our first, silly 'I love you'.

She focuses again on my breasts and – _oh how I love it when she does that_ – she licks my nipple, and pulls it into her mouth. I look down to her, watching with obsession as she moves her full, plump lips around my bud. Then she stills her motions for a moment, glances up at me from beneath her eyelashes, and that wanton view makes me gush on her thigh, but then she sucks, and I lose the plot for a while. And I lose the subplot, the script, the soundtrack, the intermission, my popcorn, the credits, and the exit sign.

I slide up closer to her sex, leaving – I'm sure – a trail behind.

"That's hot" I can hear her whimper against my chest, as her hands seize my derrière and our eyes lock. We stare intently at one another for a while as we breathe out loudly, before her hands push me down against her sex.

"_Ohmygod_" "Oh… my… God!"

"What is this? This feels… incredible!" "Everything feels incredible!"

I can feel my heart thumping in my ears as she licks my nipples and as she pulls my ass forward again, making me moan loudly.

The feeling of our lower lips and clits and centers moving against one another makes my head reel, and as I feel her soaked bundle of nerves stroking mine, our wetness mixing, I begin to rock my hips on my own.

"_Jesus_" "Fuck, Di!"

My thrusts become chaotic and fervent, setting a non-pace which is driving me crazy. As our slick centers glide over each other, I can't imagine anything more perfect than this, but still I need to feel more. I need to touch her, to taste her, and dirty thoughts race through my mind quickly as I plan what else I long to try on Lea.

So I still my movements for a moment, a groaning whimper pouring out of her lips at the sudden steadiness. I stoop down to kiss her, and I trail my hand down Lea's front, dancing with my fingers around her breasts, her stomach, her ribs, her navel and her hips, only brushing, never touching. I look at Lea when I hit the mark, and I see her eyes fluttering shut, slightly crinkling around the edges, her eyebrows creased and her mouth falling open, panting loudly. I slid between her soaked thighs, and –

"Oh, _God_"

"Fuck, Di, you're so wet." she purrs, nipping at my ear and running her sneaky fingers back up through my folds.

My forehead collapses, my world crashes, and I lose myself.

We both lose ourselves, we forget about names, memories, parents, places we've been to, food we've tried, school, friends, cities, houses, beds, people, clothes, cameras, and anything we've ever lived through.

Sex has never been so absorbing for me. Pleasurable, yes, but not an activity I could literally lose myself into. This feeling of forgetting my whereabouts, dates, friends and _life_ in general reminds me of that same sense of haziness I had when I was younger and played pretend between the trees with my brother and our dog. But that steady, low-watt glow and paler feeling has nothing in common with this explosion of wonder.

As we lose who and where we are, we mimick each other's movements, absorbing reactions and directing all at once. Her fingers are shaking against my hot skin and the vibrations are only multiplying the sensation.

"_Jesus_"

I drop my fingers a bit lower, making Lea gasp and moan loudly, and she mimicks my movements, as I mirror her reaction.

I drop my fingers lower and lower, each time taking the chance to circle around her entrance, then feeling the same between my own legs.

I fail to remember a time I've ever felt this good.

We shake at the novelty of it all, as we both drag our fingers further south and rest, looking in each other's eyes, tumbling in the immense intensity of it all, falling in love with each other once again.

"I love you." "Mmh, I loooave you." I giggle softly at her reply, my expression then falling serious – and probably predatory – when I watch her bite down on her plump lips, her cheeks burning red, her eyes fluttering behind her eyelids, and her neck arching like she's trying to escape her own body.

I circle her entrance quickly and then push into her, and those lids snap open: Lea shoots forward, capturing my lips and pushing into me with eagerness, eliciting a loud, throaty moan.

I could seriously cry from the pleasure. I could cry and then die.

Tongues probe and hands plunge deeper and deeper, until she hooks her fingers roughly inside of me, and I lose it.

"Oh, _God_, there, again" I stutter, and roll my hips down. Lea does it again, and again and again and again and again like she could never grow tired of it. I lose slowly any sort of control, and the knowledge of how to kiss goes with it too.

I push deep and cock my fingers there, no… deeper, there, no… deeper, there-

"_Holy shit_" Lea groans.

There.

"Again" she growls. So I mimick her actions, and I gasp as she gives me back just the same. We rock together, hips rolling and bucking and fingers performing magic tricks, esoteric rites and a glowing, mysterious beauty pouring out of her pores.

I slither my free hand across the expanse of her stomach, on her taut nipples, on her tensed shoulders, here caressing her cheeks, there cupping her breasts. As I feel her walls clamping around my fingers in a frenzied rhythm, I croak out "This is… without a doubt… the most incredible feeling in the world."

"Another" she gasps, as I knead her hipbones.

"What?"

"Finger, another finger" she shakes her head rapidly, and then starts nodding furiously when I widen my eyes, pulling out, as does Lea. When we both slide back in with two fingers I could swear the room just started spinning.

My fingers ache from the lack of space, and she is… _God_, she's stretching around me. She moans and I moan and our slow thrusting motion, pulsing in and out of each other, becomes rapidly frenzied, and I can't tell who is who anymore. Is that my shoulder or her shoulder I'm biting onto? Is that my breast or her breast I'm cupping? Is that wetness on my leg draining out of me or Lea?

I no longer know anything. And it feels exactly as it should feel. I lose the date. I lose where we are. I lose who I am. I lose who I was.

All I know and all I can feel is Lea: Lea and her lip-biting and her legs stretching from here to eternity and her non-sense muttering of 'more' and '_God_' and "_Oh my…_" and her eyes rolling back and my fingers _down there_ being swallowed and griped by Lea. Just watching her… It is beyond erotic.

"Oh God, it's… I'm…" Lea gasps, clenches and thrusts into me.

"Oh, me… me too… _Lea_" I groan, and I feel fire rocket through me, and her walls clamping tightly around my fingers, keeping me there. She comes too, with a throaty, loud moan, her body slightly suspended, head thrown back and eyes crinkled shut, before she sinks back down on the bed.

I fall onto her, and my forehead drops on the mattress beside her cheek, as the world vanishes completely and all that remains is our quivering mess.

After a moment of blacking out, I realize I'm probably smothering her, so I quickly roll off Lea and lay on my side, bracing my elbow against the mattress and hovering over her, with a grin plastered across my face.

I watch her pant, fluttering her incredibly enormous chocolate eyes open, turning to look up at me and harbouring my soul instantly. She smiles softly, her eyes wide with relief, her plump lips swollen and purple.

As I slither my hand lazily across her stomach, she flickers her gaze between my eyes and my mouth, and she says: "I love your after-sex goofy grin."

She moves her hand to cup my cheek, and I quickly close my mouth, my expression falling serious again.

"No! Please. I love your grin." She strokes my cheek with her thumb and I can't help but grin again, just thinking about what we just did.

"See? Your eyes… they're always beautiful, but they gain this dopey and smiley air about them, like you've stolen some candies away from a store and got away with it," she chuckles a little, "then your face gets all dimply, and your smile is so content… I love it."

She looks at me like I'm the centre of her own world, and that's the sexiest awareness I've ever felt.

I trail my fingertips across her stomach, spelling out 'I's and 'love's and 'you's in sequence, feeling her stomach muscles quivering underneath my touch.

Her eyes crinkle up in wonder for a second, with a cutesy and with a 'I-can't-believe-it' uncertainty that slits my heart open.

Her lips curve up in a smile, and she looks at me intently.

"I love you too," I can hear her whisper "and right in this moment, I can proudly say that nobody in the world, ever, in any other galaxy or parallel universe, will ever love you quite like I do right now." My heart swells with affection against my sternum, and I can't believe my luck.

"No exaggeration there?"

"No exaggeration."

I smirk and raise my eyebrow, like I can't believe it, so she huffs and smiles at me again.

She looks tired, so I pull red sheets over both our bodies, and I whisper: "I still can't believe you have red sheets."

"What about them? I like red!"

"They look like the kind of sheets that could be in Hugh Hefner's bedroom, surely not in Lea Sarfati's bedroom."

"I have my mistresses." She smirks.

"You're making me sound like a hooker!" I swat her thigh over the sheets.

"Oh, no!" She widens her eyes and slams a hand over her mouth, looking dramatically shocked, and I start tickling her ribs. She chuckles "I was just kidding! Kidding!" so I stop, and snuggle in close to her, my mind reeling just thinking about today. I'm so lucky. I inhale deeply, taking in her scent and her Chanel perfume in an incredible mix, and then I crane my head up to see her.

There are my chocolate anchors, bearing and harboring my soul.


	13. Roommates

**Here are Lea & Dianna living together. And, a little side of Glee and the Gleeks!**

**Chapter 13 – "Roommates"**

_February, 2009_

I moved in Dianna's apartment.

Living with Dianna is incredible, unbelievable, in the original sense of the word. Sometimes I wake up, forgetting that she's my roommate now, I crack my eyes open and I'm startled when I can feel her snuggling in the crook of my neck, or slithering her fingers across my body.

Like today. I wake up to her poking my ribs softly with her forefinger.

"Hey" she whispers to me.

I try to speak, but my throat is sore, so I end up growling in my raspy morning voice: "Gosh, Di, you're such a blanket hog!", tugging at the comforter to roll her over.

So she lets me get my fair portion of quilt, and she just lays there, looking at me, grinning in her goofy smile: "But you love it!"

"No, I hate it! I will get a cold one of these days! Do you hear my voice? It's gruffy."

"Gruffy husky raspy…" and she snuggles her nose behind my ear.

"Stop being cute. You should've seen yourself a few hours ago! I was freezing, and you were all curled up in your tight ball of blankets."

"A cocoooooon!" She's such a dork in the morning.

"You hog. You greedy, greedy person. Gosh, my voice sounds harsh!"

"Oh you precious snowflake you, come here." she says pouting as she rolls over to me, side-hugging me with her arms and legs like she's a koala and I'm her favorite tree branch.

"I just can't with your cuteness in the morning…"

"Shush snowflake. I needs sleeps."

'Needs sleeps'. Sweet Dianna. Neil Diamond had his 'Sweet Caroline'. Well Neil, you can keep your Caroline, I have my Dianna.

I love her little idiosyncrasies. When she's busy, or having an idea for a story or screenplay – she likes to write screenplays, you know – she pops in a crackling Ella Fitzgerald album, or some Edith Piaf, and she walks around the house, humming some melody or some words to herself, looking for pictures, and books, and paper sheets, and scribbled notes for inspiration. Sometimes, she ends up writing exactly what she had thought of, but some other times it goes badly, and she just stares at the white notepaper with a blank expression, wondering if what she believes to be a love of the written word is really just a fetish for stationery.

I like to read what she writes: she has a way with words, and sometimes while she's sat down at the living room table immersed in her thoughts and jotting down everything with her pencil, I like to sit opposite her, and read what she scribbles. I can read upside-down, but _hush! _Don't you tell her that.

Once I caught a paragraph she was putting so much effort in, scribbling and striking out words, and jotting down again. It was about artists.

_Artists, that's what we are. Watery and not able to want to be something. Like joy could never belong to us but could only slip away from our hands. Loving each other because we should have loved each other before loving each other. Moving clumsily because clumsiness is our only beauty. Feeling special as if we lived in a Cole Porter song. Withering miserably. Failing palely._

_We are not passionate, we are conventional. We do not look for a good cause, we just hope to need one. But we will start again, pretending we have changed, knowing that we are still the very same, that we pretend in the very same way. And we will be really outstanding, like true artists, and we will never think we're unneeded. And we will wish to produce so many wonders for those who desire so much to be filled with wonder. And we will say 'We're happy!', and we will speak as we cry. Finally falling to pieces._

I really love her writing.

Sometimes she can be a messy person, but it's not a settled habit. She'll be chaotic when she has a lot of things on her mind – which, I will admit, occurs quite often. She will skip from one activity to another, forgetting to finish the previous one, and she just leaves her possession around the apartment. A doodle of a narwhal on her bedroom floor, a dog-eared book on the tv, a vinyl under the couch cushion, a notebook on the fridge, a pencil in a tea mug, an eraser here, a pen there.

I am genuinely super neat. I am one of those order keepers, you can find at least one of us in each family: there are those of us who naturally want order, in a feng shui way. We are the agents of symmetry, the reps of systematization. We run after people to put method where we find disorganization, to put tidiness where there is disarray. I am wired that way. In a thousand unseen ways I make her life less chaotic, like by organizing sweetener packets and coffee cups. Because that is what I need to do, and that is what Dianna needs as she rushes about, fully immersed in her thoughts.

Sometimes we have little quarrels about my order obsession, and she will say "My chaos is an organized one! I never can find my things when you run after me sorting out my pandemonium," and I will reply "You have your little quirks, I have mine!" "But I always feel like I'm the bad-behaving puppy, and you're my master who dashes after me to pick up my litter!" "But you are a bad-behaving puppy!" and I will smile, and she will bite on my shoulder playfully.

Also, her run is hilarious. Have you ever seen her run? Well, it's really funny. She sends her arms thrashing about her body, to and fro, like that would ever help her to run faster. Then sometimes, when she's feeling perky, she stretches her legs out in a ballet jump (she said it's a _grand jetè_), because she just can't get some dance moves out of her muscle memory.

Her relationship with books is a strange one. She does not simply read them. She gets absorbed in them, like they are the secret keepers of some mystical force, then she underlines the phrases she likes, and she folds down the corner of the pages with interesting quotes. And you can clearly make out which books she enjoyed the most: those books are worn and battered, dog-eared at almost every page, nearly falling to pieces.

Sometimes I like to take her out to dates: I choose a particular restaurant, or movie, or art exhibition, or concert I think she would like, and seeing her surprised hazel eyes, and hearing her say "I wanted to see this!" or, "I wanted to eat here!" and "How did you know? I didn't even tell you!" is quite amazing.

She looks like she grew up fast and not so organically. She has these bits and pieces of an old, mature, wise soul inside her: she loves to read, she writes, she has an old-fashioned way to think things out, she enjoys every little moments life offers her, she cherishes the people she meets and her friends. And still, she will behave like a child sometimes. Not _childishly_ – puerile, whiny, irresponsible – but genuinely like a child – pure, naive, trusting, unpretentious. She likes bedtime stories, she loves to be taken care of, she still is a family girl, she's attached to her childhood memories more than anyone I've ever known. She arouses in me the constant, eerie feeling that I'm talking to an old soul who has the eyes of a child, the mouth of an artist and a mind of her own. I like that about her.

Even though I know her quite well, Dianna can still be a walking riddle to me sometimes. She has this way about her, it would be hard for anyone to grasp, and yet I find myself trying harder every day. She challenges me, and unbalances me in the best of ways. She keeps things alive.

And when I don't understand why she does this or that, like why she likes to listen to moody music (Tom Waits and Bon Iver or Leonard Cohen) when she cooks, or why she hums a tune when we watch horror movies and she's particularly scared, or why she draws doodles of elephants and octopuses and leaves them around the house, or why she likes to hide my clothes… I never attempt to find logic or reasons. I just kind of smile and nod along with it. I always feel like that's the sensible thing to do.

* * *

><p>Things I noticed so far, since Lea moved in my apartment:<p>

- Lea is addicted to coffee. She will drink 16 cups on a good day.

(I really think that's the main cause of her bubbliness, but she will fervently deny. 'I've always been like this!' Well, the pints of java she guzzles surely help.)

- She has an unhealthy obsession with sushi food: when she takes the first bite, she widens her eyes and moans.

- She loves it when I pop in old records like Cole Porter, Edith Piaf and Ella Fitzgerald.

- She speaks gibberish whenever she's feeling particularly playful, or when she wants to drive me mental.

- She sings when she cooks. Sometimes she hums tunes, some other times she properly belts out full songs, dramatically closing her eyes, turning her head to a side, and scrunching up her face. I love her voice.

- She tends to be bossy, at times, but I like that side of her because… because it – I might aswell just say it. It turns me on – a lot. There you go.

- She likes to watch horror movies but then she gets easily frightened so she squeezes my hand and hides behind my back at the scariest bits.

- She is funny, incredibly so. She makes me laugh like there's no tomorrow until my stomach hurts and tears run down my cheeks.

- When she's particularly excited, her voice gains a higher pitch, while when she's feeling very confident and at ease, she lowers her pitch and swears a lot.

- "Fuckin' asshole" is something she says a lot, addressed to no one in particular.

- Her laugh sounds something like this: AK AK AK AK. It's adorable, and extremely contagious.

- She likes to make lists to keep her focused when she's anxious.

- She wrinkles her nose and her eyes get hazy just before she sneezes.

- She sneezes a lot when she's embarassed or not at ease. I don't know why, there must be some weird nerve cords connections there.

- She needs order. When we have breakfast, she organizes sweetener packets and coffee cups while munching on her toast.

- Once in a while, she reorganizes her cd collection. She does it especially when she's emotionally stressed, like when we have our little spats. She pours herself a glass of red wine, sits down facing the long shelves dedicated to her records, and spends the evening rearranging her cds.

When she first moved in, she had them arranged alphabetically. Sometimes, when she's drunk or feeling funny, she organizes them by categories: The Doors next to the Carpenters with Nine Inch Nails, then the Cranberries go close to Meatloaf and Bowling for Soup and Red Hot Chili Peppers and Fiona Apple and Salt n' Pepper, then Maroon 5 go close to Black Sabbath and Blondie and P!nk and Deep Purple and Barry White and Pink Floyd, and so on.

She thinks she's hilarious when she's drunk.

She really is.

Yesterday night, she arranged them in the order she bought them in: she was trying to write her own autobiography without having to do anything like pick up a pen. She pulled the records off the shelves, piled them all over the sitting room floor, looked for the Grease soundtrack (I joshed her for the entire evening when I found out, 'I was 8 years old, what did you expect?'), and start from there. When she finished, she sipped on her wine and proudly said: "What I really like is the feeling of security I get from this new filing system. I have two hundreds of cds more or less, and you have to be me to know how to find any of them. If I want to play _Blue_ by Joni Mitchell, I have to remember I bought it in the autumn of 1995, when I got cast for my very first Bradway show. I bought it because my grandma had told me that a true Broadway star just _has_ to know Joni. Well, people don't know any of that, so they're screwed, really, aren't they? They'd have to ask me to dig it out for them, and for some reason I find this incredibly comforting."

- She's currently reading Captain Corelli's Mandolin, and when she sees something she likes in it, she says "Di! I found a lovely poem!" or "an incredible quote!" and "Listen!", so she declaims to me, making funny voices and accents she thinks would be appropriate for the characters, threading her fingers through my hair.

Last week she read out this bit to me, always threading her fingers through my hair softly, lightly scratching on my scalp, like she knows I like.

_Love is a kind of dementia with very precise and oft-repeated clinical symptoms. You blush in each other's presence _(she slithered her fingers across my face, cupping my cheek)_, you both hover in places where you expect the other to pass, you are both a little tongue-tied, you both laugh inexplicably and too long, you become quite nauseatingly girlish, and he _('She', Lea corrected) _becomes quite ridiculously gallant. You have also grown a little stupid._

- She's incredibly cute when she sleeps. I always fall asleep after her, and I love watching her chest heaving regularly and her lips pouting and her small hands curled up in fists and her head dipping so that her chin touches her collarbone. She looks like she's 15 when she sleeps like that, and sometimes it makes me think what it would've been like to meet her in 2001. I can almost see my 15 year old-self, sauntering down the hallway of my High School in San Mateo, straight, long hair, turtle necks and skirts, my Mary Janes clacking on the linoleum floor. If I (still very innocent, still very much a family girl) had met a 15 year old-Lea (hopeful eyes, east to west coast-smiles, unapologetic ambition) in the atrium of my school… would I have had the strength to do anything about it? Probably not. Thank goodness we met in our twenties.

- She likes to say my full name. She utters 'Dianna Elise Agronsky' drawing out the vowels in 'Dianna' and quickly pronouncing the 'Agronsky' in a cute little voice.

- She likes to casually slip sly innuendos in our conversations, especially over dinner, then she smirks and goes on like nothing happened. It drives me crazy, and she knows it.

- When I'm very busy with writing or work, she goes through the day teasing me with her smug smirks, and parading her allergy to bras and pants around the apartment.

Sometimes, I do my payback by slowly slithering my fingers on the rim of my glass – she said to me once that she finds my hands very sexy – and casually crook them repeatedly, like I do when we're passionately making love. That drives her crazy.

- She gets confused – her eyes crinkle up at the side, her forehead furrows and her eyebrows knit – when I hide her clothes. I like to hide her clothes because I love to see her puzzled face. Also watching her as she rushes about, swearing at nobody in particular, is a true delight (if she can't find her clothes, I always tell her where they are in the end: I may be mischievous, but I'm not mean).

- Lea has twelve smiles, did you know?

1) one when she's just cheerful

2) one when something really makes her laugh

3) one when she's being flirty and allusive

4) one when she sings and she knows that's where she belongs

5) one when she's feeling grateful (she adds a head tilt to the right to this particular smile)

6) one when she's making plans, lists, or talks about Broadway

7) one when she thinks she's hilarious

8) one when she thinks I'm the whipped one in the relationship

9) one when she's being bashful and shy (quite a rare one)

10) one when she's laughing out of politeness

11) one when she's talking about her friends

12) a special one when she looks at me.

* * *

><p>She hid my new shoes again. Shit.<p>

"Why Di? Why do you do this to me?"

"I love seeing you frustrated…" Her husky voice is coming from our bedroom.

"You're bad, you're so bad! Those were my new shoes!" I turn to look at her with exasperation. She's sitting on our bed, her hands bracing on the mattress, her hair in a blonde mess, staring at me with tired – yet interested – eyes. Sex on a stick.

"Shush hush Lea. You're on a quest. Do not distract yourself. Go on."

I storm towards the living room, then I quickly look at her for confirmation.

"Cold, but it might be getting warmer."

I walk to the kitchen.

"Definitely warm."

The kitchen? What the hell? The kitchen table, the sink, the kitchen counter, the island, the stools…

Oh my God, she can't have…

"Oooh, getting hotter there…"

The fridge?

"Di, the fridge? What the hell? I mean, really? Those are my new shoes!"

"I thought you knew I love Breakfast at Tiffany's." She says, as I extract my new, shiny black heels from the fridge. Ouch, they're frosty aswell now.

"Di! Holly Golightly keeps her ballet shoes in the fridge because she's a lunatic!"

"I like Holly Golightly…"

"And I love The Way We Were, but I surely don't go around stridently parading my political views just because Katie Morosky does so."

"Come on, it's fun! Don't you think it's fun?"

Yes.

"No!"

She stands up from our bed, still unmade, and walks up to me from behind as I close the fridge, hugging my waist and biting softly on my shoulder, her sexy bed hair falling on my nape, and suddenly my struggle to fight just to keep up appearances weakens. A lot. "Don't you like when I'm still in bed and I watch you walking around the house on your little mission?"

Yes yes yes!

"Uh… no…"

"Well, I love to see your pretty face scrunch up in frustration… either in bed or out."

Her pleasantly husked innuendo fills me up with the familiar urge to simultaneously jump her here and now, and to go on sex strike until she turns blue with want.

"You don't get to turn me on right now Dianna, we are meeting up with Ryan Murphy and the FOX execs in an hour and we are positively late. Why are you not ready? You should be getting ready! Get ready!"

She strides across the living room into the bathroom, and she starts singing a very throaty rendition of _Get Ready _by The Temptations.

'_I never met a girl who makes me feel the way that you do – You're alright!'_

"Hey! Just 'alright'? I resent that!"

She peeps out of the bathroom, drumming her fingers on the door frame, her hair still in a mess, and she moves her bare shoulders in a slow sashay, making me gape at her in a daze.

'_Whenever I'm asked who makes my dreams real, I say that you do – You're outta sight!'_

She playfully covers her eyes with her hand, and goes back inside. I can't help but smile when I hear her beautiful, tremulous alto muffled by the door closing behind her.

'_So, fee-fi-fo-fum. Look out baby, 'cause here I come.'_

She runs out of the bathroom barely covering her chest with her arm, and starts dressing.

'_And I'm bringing you a love that's true, so… Get ready! So get ready!'_

"Hey! That's my line! Get ready, Di!"

'_I'm gonna try to make you love me too!'_

She sashays towards me in jeans and a black bra, and she slithers her hands up and down my body. Is she trying to get laid? Well, we can't right now.

"Di! You can't seduce me right now! We have to go to work, hurry!"

'_I'm on my way!'_

She goes back to dressing, and is ready in 5 minutes sharp.

"You're going to drive me crazy one day, Di."

"I'll be waiting patiently for that day to come. Heavily tormenting you in the process."

* * *

><p>We get to the Paramount Ryan Murphy office right in time. Phew!<p>

"We got here in time just because I hurried you up. If it had been for you, we would still be at home."

"…Having sex." I add.

She looks at me with her wide eyes, bright and shrewd, just like the teasing smirk now plastered across her face.

I just love our playful bantering.

We walk into a buzzing room: I spot my friends together with people I never met before, who I assume are the FOX execs.

Chris, Kevin, Naya, Mark, Amber, Jenna, Cory, Lea and I have quickly become a family. We often go out together, laugh at ourselves and just genuinely have fun. We know each other quite well. So when Chris widens his eyes at me almost comically, pursing his lips together, I just know he's got something to get out of his system. I go and sit next to him.

"Chris, why the big eyes?"

"They're picking up the show." He's serious, his eyes are staring out of the office window, slightly narrowing like he noticed something really significant out there. His tone is solemn, grave, without inflection, like he's offering a prayer in church.

"WHAT?"

"You heard me, Di. FOX decided to pick up the show." His voice is slowly rising in pitch, but he's still very much speaking softly.

"But… I thought they had to wait for the audience results."

"They tested the pilot on selected audiences, and got the approval they needed."

"Did people like it then?"

His eyes dart to mine, flickering their focus between my face and Ryan Murphy. Suddenly his voice is not so low-pitched. He sounds excited.

"No. They _loved_ it. They said they can't wait to know what happens next, and that's why we're shooting the second episode next month. The word went viral on the net thanks to the people who got to watch it, and a Glee bush telegraph has started. People on Twitter, Facebook and Tumblr apparently already got spoilers about the Pilot and they are cuh-razy about it."

"Gosh, this is incredible!"

"Yep."

"Wait, how do you know any of this? Did you talk to Ryan?"

"Yes, I called him this morning because my agent wanted some piece of info on the Glee production, and I caught him on the verge of tears. He was blurting out random words like 'success' or 'finally', and I coaxed him into telling me everything. The man gets easily flattered."

"Chris! You naughty boy!"

"That's what he said." He drops his voice in a low, Texan accent for this and it gets me giggling.

I nudge Lea and repeat to her what Chris just told me, and she comically widens her already enormous eyes at me. When I've finished, she pulls me in a bear hug, and I can feel her sniffling.

"Lea, compose yourself! Nobody knows yet!"

"Oh yeah, right right."

Brad and Ian saunter their way into the room, joining Ryan at his seat. They're all smiling, and that instantly hushes everybody up.

"We are very happy to announce you that…" blablabla.

Chris, Lea and I gasp at the right times and we cheer with the others at the proper moments.

"The first episode will air on May 19th, and it will be broadcast again with the second episode in September. We will be promoting the show for a great part of this summer."

We are overwhelmed with excitement and thrill. We gape at Ryan intently, just in case he sprouts angel's wings or self-combusts or disappears, or the view just blurs and we wake up from this collective dream we're all having.

He gestures towards a tall, blonde girl with blue eyes and high cheekbones smiling sweetly and waving in our direction, introducing us all to Heather Morris who is going to be a Cheerio in the next episode.

Ryan talks about scheduling our shootings, and as soon as we're done with the meeting, Lea and I decide to organize a little get-together at our apartment, to celebrate and introduce Heather to the group.

When we finally plop ourselves down on our apartment couch, I send a group text to all of the kids, which simply reads:

**Dianna – 04:54 pm.**

_Tonight, 7 pm. Our place. Bring food, alcohol, a game to play and yourselves. We'll be providing the music. Tell Heather. Lea&Di_

The replies are quick. The names under which their numbers are filed is not my fault. They chose those themselves.

**Cory Frankenteen– 04:55 pm** (But of course, the cell phone addict. Who else could ever reply first?)

_Aww you already sign texts together? How wifey of you. Bringing alcohol. Is this 'myself' really needed? Never heard of him._

**Amber** **TheLifeOf Riley – 04:57 pm**

_I'll bring myself and a whole lotta lovin' for you girls. _

**Amber TheLifeOf Riley – 04:59 pm**

_Di, I was talking about… uh, friendly love. Friendship. Kindness and philanthropy… Oh, whatever. Plus, you're not exactly my type, skinny gurl._

**Jenna Cockblockowitz – 05:00 pm**

_Yay! Can't wait for another chance to see you two being sweet lovebirds… Ouch, my teeth hurt already. Jk._

**Chris G(uy)linda – 05:04 pm**

_Is this some covert, encoded way to engage us in one of those LA orgy parties? With Eyes Wide Shut-styled costumes and people fondling their way out? Cause as much as I'm fond of costume dramas, I'm not down with that. (I'm bringing food)_

**Kevz Mchale – 05:06 pm**

_Nice one. As of food, I was thinking about bringing a goat to sacrifice. Will that be okay for you vegan Jews? I mean, we will drain all the blood from the animal before consuming it, and all of that shiz of course. That is totally kosher right? (Don't read this to Lea, I feel like her sense of humor doesn't embrace animal slaughtering-related jokes yet)_

**Mark ThePuckster Salling – 05:10 pm**

_Bringing alcohol and that game you spoke about. Is nude Twister fine?_

**Mark ThePuckster Salling – 05:12 pm**

_Gosh, Di. You are such a prude. Why are you such a prude?_

**Mark ThePuckster Salling – 05:13 pm**

_Btw, 'Lea&Di'? Really Di, really? Whipped much?_

**NayNay Rivers – 05:13 pm**

_Already told Heather. Coming with her. _

**NayNay Rivers – 05:15 pm**

_Ew, Di. Get your mind out of the gutter. _

**NayNay Rivers – 05:16 pm**

_And try not to scare Heather off with your weird bisexual vibe tonight, what with your eyes fluttering, your subconscious flirting, your dopey grin and your constant urge to hug and grab and fondle._

**NayNay Rivers – 05:18 pm**

_I AM NOT JEALOUS. Get over yourself, Di. Also, shut up ;) _

Oh, how I love my friends.


	14. The Transitive Property

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or Lea, or Dianna, or anyone else mentioned in this fiction.**

**(Some of this chapter was inspired by the hilarious movie 'Barefoot in the Park', which I do not own obviously)**

**Chapter 14 – The transitive property**

"I feel like God has laid a hand!"

Naya is looking at me with hopeful eyes, waiting for a comment, or an advice, or something.

"So… You like Heather."

"Yeah!" She smiles confidently, but then she notices the growing smirk on my lips.

"Ew, Lea. No. I like her as a friend." She snorts.

"You like her… as a friend." I smirk.

She hums approvingly. "In a totally non-lesbian way."

"Totally non-lesbian." I repeat, narrowing my eyes and getting closer to her face.

"Uh, what are you doing right now? Should I be scared?" I step closer, and her eyes widen comically. Ha. She looks nervously around her, taking in the kitchen of the Michele-Agron apartment, where the party is being held.

"Am I going to get stabbed in the kitchen like in some 90's atrocious, bad-quality scary movie? Do you have already a knife hidden behind your back or tucked in your boot?"

"Ha ha ha. No. I'm just looking for the gay you keep hidden under these thick layers of denial."

"Denial?" She snorts "Listen Lea, I like her as a friend. We enjoy the same stuff, we have the same taste in anything. It just clicked. This doesn't make me… _gay_." She winces when the word comes out of her mouth, like it's the first time she hears her own voice.

"We even have the same type. As in boys type." She crosses her arms.

"Oh really? What happened to Mark?"

"We broke up a month ago. We are not good together. We bring out the worst in each other."

She waves her hand between us, like she's sweeping the topic off the table. Then she walks back to the living room.

"CHRRRIIIIIIIIS!" I belt out.

"Jesus! Woman, is there any way you can call me without screeching like a howler monkey?" He yells from the living room, not moving an inch from the couch.

"CHRISTOPHER! CHRISTOPHER PAUL COLFER!"

"Jesus, Lea, I'm coming, you Bronx barbarian!" He saunters his way to the kitchen with his hands covering his ears.

"Hello Chris!"

"Hello Lea." He lowers his hands from his ears when he realizes I've dropped my pitch to a non-disturbing range, and he smiles courtly to me, slightly tilting his head to the right.

"Your Sherlock here," I tap my nose with my forefinger, "has got something in her hands. His hands. Whatever."

He suddenly looks like a deer caught in the headlights and he freezes on the spot, his expression screaming 'God please let me stay out of this'.

I smirk at him, clapping my hands excitedly, and I simply say "Naya," grinning like a fool.

He looks confused: his eyebrows knit and his mouth contorts in a grimace.

I try again: "Heather!"

He just stands there, looking at me.

I start flailing my arms about, repeating the two names in sequence again and again, but when he starts backing away, eyes wide and hands screening his face, silently mourning the loss of his friend's sanity, I grab his arm and swing him around to let him look into the living room.

"Just look at them!"

He flickers his eyes around the room, looking for the two girls, and when he finds Santana sipping on her drink, and encouraging Heather in a proper cheerleading chant to gulp down her shot, he turns to look at me, smiling and almost shaking his head.

"Oh, Lea, you baby gay. Just because the planets aligned and you found your _inner self_," air inverted commas "with that sexpot over there… Doesn't mean everyone around you will suddenly turn gay."

I smirk, and he blurts out: "I was gay before you got with Dianna, darling. Pssh, I was gay before you entertained crowds with the vision of your bare breasts."

He raises an eyebrow and mouths 'show-off', and I swat his back playfully as we walk to the living room together, arm in arm, chuckling softly.

"Lea, we need you here!"

"Yes, Mark? What is it?" I walk towards the living room, and he asks Dianna to read the question out loud for his team again. They're playing Trivial Pursuit, and Dianna, Jenna and Amber are teamed up against the boys.

Dianna protests: "This is not fair! You only need this last wedge to win, and she will obviously know the answer to this one… She's a godsend!"

I smirk to her playfully, "Oh why, thank you Dianna!", and she scowls with her arms crossed, and her mouth blows air through her hair, mumbling 'You know what I meant'.

"Read out, big D!" Mark is grinning and enjoying this incredibly.

She snorts, and then recites: "Musical that opened on Broadway on October 1961 which won 7 Tony Awards," and then she chucks the small card to her back and holds her head in her hands, losing any hope for victory. Jenna and Amber are casually gulping down their drinks, obviously not caring about the game.

I grin and declaim: "_How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying_ opened at the 46th Street Theatre on Broadway in October 1961, running for over a thousand performances-"

Mark smacks his hand on my mouth, effectively shutting me up, and then he dips his head until he's inches away from Dianna's nose to proclaim: "Big D… We won." I lick his hand, which he immediately removes from my mouth. "Ew Lea, ever the charmer."

He high-fives Kevin (with his clean hand) and he even chest bumps with Cory, but in their overexcited display of virility he ends up whining and rubbing his torso. Chris looks at them with his mouth playfully twitching in a grimace.

"Thou shalt now bow to the gods." The boys are all standing with their chests puffed out and their hands on their hips like they're some kind of action figure superheroes.

Chris mutters "Ye may now kiss my ass", and Amber and Jenna are quite drunk at this point, so they curl up laughing insanely for no discernible reason, thrashing their arms to each other, looking for physical support for this deranged kind of chortle.

Naya and Heather are now in the middle of the living room, engaged in some sort of karaoke-sans-microphone. Well, they're really just belting out at the top of their lungs some lyrics to _The Way I Are_ by Timbaland which is playing in the background.

Naya intones "_But together we could be the perfect soulmates,_" and then she hollers,_ "_TALK TO ME GIRL!" beating up her chest with her fist like she's some kind of gangsta rapper, but she ends up looking more like she just yelled 'COME AT ME BRO' than anything else. Heather picks it up from there, smiling brightly back at her. "_Oh, baby it's alright now, you ain't gotta floss for me_" (oh wow, she does have a nice voice) and she places a hand on her chest, looking at Naya and dissolving into laughter. Naya continues with "_If we go there, you can still touch my love, it's free_" and Heather catcalls. They're really having fun and Heather seems really nice, but _are you fucking kidding me right now?_

'_God has laid a hand, I like her as a friend, it just clicked, best friends forever'._

Ha ha ha, ho ho ho, you're killing me Naya.

"Stop your leering," Chris mutters passing by me, and I feel slightly insulted because _no_, that's not what I was doing. At all.

"I resent that!" I say to him, who's skipping away to the kitchen to grab another mini-carrot from the buffet.

"Yeah, yeah, write a letter." He yells over the counter to me.

I look back to Naya ad Heather and they're making out on the couch.

Actually no, I'm just kidding. I wish it happened, but it didn't.

_Can you imagine, though?_

* * *

><p>Lea walks up to me, eyes bright and a shrewd smile like she's holding back a laugh. She's up to something.<p>

"What happened?"

She breaks into a laugh: "Oh, nothing. Nothing." She sobers up for a second, then she looks up to me, grinning like a dork.

"How was it to lose Trivial Pursuit thanks to your amazing girlfriend's knowledge?"

"Ass. It was awful, especially because they often got questions on sports. I think Mark is still scowling about the fact that Cory is way too vigorous with his chest bumps, though, which definitely cheers me up."

We glance at the living room for a moment.

Cory is air-kissing Mark and trying to wrap him in a bear-hug, while the latter is shoving him off with chants of "Get the fuck away from me, iron chest". Kevin is munching on toffee candies by himself, moaning excessively any time he pops one into his mouth and proclaiming – to no one in particular but himself – that he's eating the 'food of gods'. Amber and Jenna are still laughing, for God knows which reason, still perched up on their stools, and are now challenging each other to move across the room on their seats, so they start bouncing and swaying their way forward on their stools. Naya is feeding Heather with strawberries – she's whipped already and they aren't even together – tossing them from her seat to the blonde's mouth, clapping ecstatically whenever Heather catches one.

"Remind me again, when did we choose these people as our friends?" I murmur to Lea, making sure nobody heard me.

"Never. They all chose us, which… should tell you something."

I shout out to Naya, and I mimick a lashing motion together with a mouthed 'K-chah!'. She just looks away and doesn't answer, but she manages to flip me the bird while tossing another strawberry across the room to Heather, blocking me out of her vision.

Someone's missing.

"Where is Chris?"

"Free food. You'll find him there."

I look into the kitchen and… well, he's there. His mouth is stuffed with mini-carrots and vegan dip, he's got a bag of chips under his arm and he's pouring some pear juice into his red cup.

"Chris, have you eaten anything in the last, I don't know… decade?" I chuckle, and Lea lets out an unbelievably loud laugh. Of course. What's the point of laughing if you can't infect everyone around you with your happiness?

Chris looks up at me and tosses a plastic spoon in my direction. I duck immediately, and Lea lets out a huffed 'Ouch!', rubbing her forehead behind me.

"CHRIS COLFER!"

Chris's face suddenly falls, and he looks like a reindeer caught in the headlights. He darts to the living room, his cup spilling yellow liquid at his feet, followed in tow by Lea.

The kitchen is a mess. Bowls of food are all over the counter, some are toppled over.

The living room is even worse. Pear juice, strawberries Heather didn't catch, and empty cups are on the floor, while Amber and Jenna are still bouncing and swaying on their stools, obviously scratching on the parquet flooring with the stools legs. Though they have apparently stopped halfaway through their race because they are now in the middle of the living room, facing each other and swaying side to side, dissolving into these insane roars of laughter each time they lose their balance. God knows why.

Kevin and Cory are having a drumming competition on the run with straws on every surface of the house, and while they consider stepping on the table or onto some chairs to start tapping on the walls and ceilings… A sudden, desperate thought strikes me.

Parties in the Agron-Michele mansion are a terrible idea. These kinds of rendez-vous with friends should not make you feel like you're preparing yourself for a battle. Or like you'll turn into a dustman the moment they all leave. And they should not make me cringe inside everytime I see some crumbs or bits of food or spilled liquid hitting the floor.

But then I look at Lea. She's finally grabbed Chris by his sweater and she's now wrenching on his sleeve until he will give her a hug. "Get off of me, woman," he smacks on her hands, trying to shove her off. He suddenly smiles courtly to her: "I don't want to sound indelicate, but _get your paws off my Target sweater_!". Lea finally side-tackles him into a hug, snuggling her face into the warmth of his sweater, while Chris reluctantly pats her head.

Parties at the Agron-Michele mansion are a _horrible_ idea.

But I love these people, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

><p><em>March 2009<em>

I don't honestly know how I got Dianna into this.

Last Wednesday night, after an hour of… passionate lovemaking, I simply whispered to her: "Would you like to meet my parents?". Well, that had came out a little weird, like my mom and dad would suddenly burst our bedroom door open right that moment and yell "Surprise, surprise!".

But she just raised her head off the mattress a little, and she nodded with a grin plastered on her sleepy face, side-hugging me like she's a koala bear and I'm her favorite tree branch, and whispering into my hair "I'd love to meet Edith and Marc. We'll go to New York whenever we have a few days off," eventually dozing off.

And now we are on a plane, heading to New York because Ryan Murphy gave us four days off. My hand is clutching hers tightly, more out of I'm-introducing-my-girlfriend-to-my-parents-anxiety than this-plane-might-fall-down-anxiety.

Obviously, I have talked about Dianna with my parents on the phone, and I told them I'm coming over to see them and I'm bringing Dianna with me, but I've left out the little detail that we are… lovers. I told them that we live together, that she's my best friend, that she likes reading and drinking tea and has this quirky taste for music and art, that she's lovely, sweet, she has this beautiful, tremulous alto voice, ravishing hazel eyes and blonde hair that smells like tropical fruit… Ok, I might have exaggerated with details.

Like, what was left? 'Her skin tastes like peach! Oh, how do I know this, you ask? Well, she once tripped and she fell on me – naked – while I had my mouth open?'

Anyway, the only thing I actually have to tell them is that I love this woman. And that, well, I'm _in love_ with _a woman_. And I'm pretty sure this is not the sort of conversation a mother and father would like to handle on the phone, so that's why I'm flying to the East Coast to tell them.

_FUCK_. I'm flying 2 thousand miles to tell my parents that their daughter has a girlfriend. Their Broadway-bred child ended up getting a girlfriend. How original of me.

My gaze drifts off to the clouds, and I thump the back of my head against my seat headrest in pure panic.

But then Dianna's fingers find my chin, and move my head softly until I'm staring into deep, intense hazel orbs. She smiles gently and then whips her head around when a steward asks her if she wants any drinks or snacks, accidentally bumping her knee into her frontseat table in the process, so she mutters a quick 'Sorry' to the inanimate support, and smiles shyly to the steward, shaking her head and mumbling a 'No, thank you'.

And suddenly I feel no more hesitant about this. I love Dianna. I love her golden eyes, her soft, tropic-fruity blonde hair, her pale, velvety, peach-scented skin, her battered books, her old crackling records, how bashful she is to people she doesn't know, her obsession with weird random pets like narwhals, unicorns, jellyfish and octopuses. I love Dianna. So they are going to love her too.

The pilot utters croakily something about the plane landing in 10 minutes, so I put my seat in the upright position, shove all of my belongings into my bag, and grab Dianna's hand.

As soon as we get off the plane we collect our luggage, then we get a cab and finally step with our bags in hand on the boardwalk before my parents' house, in the Bronx.

Oh, how I've missed this.

I have been in quite a few cities, you know, from Philadelphia to Washington D.C., from Charleston to Los Angeles, from Louisville (how do you pronounce that again? Loo-ah-vull? Lewis-ville?) to Baltimore – when I was in my teen Hairspray-craze phase, you know… Everyone's had that phase, right? Right?

I have been been pretty much in lots of places, but there has never been one moment I spent away from home when I didn't miss New York. I miss New York in the same homesick, urgent way some men miss their wives. The smell, the tall buildings, the blinding lights, the constant, insane hurry-scurry, the crazy people, even the sacks of garbage on the boardwalk (but no, I'd never miss the horse-carriages). Every little thing of New York reminds me of when I grew up here - I would scurry to school in the morning in my Mary Janes, nervously revising some Math or Literature - or when I started taking my first baby steps in Spring Awakening – I would run into some private park with Jon and a bottle of red wine under his arm after an evening show to enjoy that wonderful quietness and stillness in the air – or when I had a boyfriend and we would go to Bubba Gump Shrimp for dinner and then to Central Park for a walk.

If anything like true happiness exhists, then to me that's knowing you belong somewhere. And I belong here, in the dirty, internally contradictory, smelly, smoky New York.

* * *

><p>Shit, shit, shit.<p>

I'm hugging Lea on the front step of her parent's flat with our two bags at our feet. I'm holding on for dear life. I'm trying to get some physical support.

Lea breaks my sudden embrace and she meets my eyes. Is my trepidation shining through?

"Wait, are you nervous for this?" She shifts her brown focus between my left and right eye, trying to find God knows what.

"Does it _show_? Oh my goodness, it shows!"

Lea chuckles briskly, and then catches sight of my eyes again.

"Di, it doesn't show. I just know you. So when I see your eyes slightly wider than usual, quickly shifting, not keeping eye contact with me, and your lips pursed while you smile, I know you're nervous."

Oh. Elementary, my dear Watson!

"Well, I am."

I'm never nervous. My mom is never nervous aswell, which is something I've always been grateful for. We are calm, collected creatures. We don't get easily anxious or apprehensive.

Lea knows something about my cool temperament. Once, she had caught sight of a spider in our bathroom, and she had run out of the shower, wet and soapy and very much naked, screeching something like 'Aracnophobia' and 'Spiders 3D'. I simply grabbed my rubber gloves, dramatically tugging and releasing their edge in a loud snap, and went to kill the little rascal, with Lea yelling at me 'Let him free, don't kill him!'.

"Nervous, is that you? You mean you are not calm right now? It might alter the foundation I built my life on. Ha, it could shift tectonic plates and bring forward the end of the world the Mayan predicted!" She looks up at the sky with fauxed panic, half-expecting tripods or some alien spacecraft to appear.

"Shut up, you drama queen."

She smiles back to me, and cups my cheek, running her thumb in soothing circles underneath my right eye.

"What are you nervous about?"

"Anything bad that might happen. I want your parents to like me." I half-whined the last sentence and it makes me wince, just a little. I sound like a desperate little child. Am I pouting already? Should I cross my arms on my chest, stomp my foot to the ground and explode in a high-pitched wail?

"Di, I know my parents. They are normal, average, loving parents. They are a little bit loud, and just a little nutty like I am, but I'm sure of one thing about them. They love me. And I love you. So for the transitive property, they will love you too. It's math, you can't fight or doubt it."

She smiles baring her pearly white teeth, biting on her lower lip and tilting her head to the right. There you go, her smile number nine: the bashful smile.

"Alright, I won't try and challenge math, but I need your opinion on something."

"I'll give you anything, my lady." She sing-songs.

"Your voice too? Just kidding. Uh, how- how do I look?"

She looks like she can't believe me.

"How do you look? Wait, is Dianna Agron really asking me how she looks?" She looks around her, like she's searching for some confirmation from the people passing by that she heard right. I huff playfully, then I nudge her in the ribs. "Come on, Lea. I'm being serious."

She locks her gaze with mine, and suddenly she's very pensive.

"Let's see how I can put this. Your hair looks like a streak of sunshine – sometimes its beams wake me up and I have to put blinders on your side of the bed, so I can go back to sleep – your eyes are now honey-coloured, almost yellow, but more often they tend to be to green or hazel. Your skin looks soft, and you smell like a fruit salad. Also, may I add that these jeans compliment your ass in the most delicious way, but I don't think that's something my parents will notice."

I lock my gaze with hers, and she stands up on her tip-toes to kiss me. It's chaste, just a peck really, but I can already feel a shiver running down my spine.

I look at her, and a sudden thought strikes me. I fell in love with a girl who has Audrey Hepburn's improbably enormous eyes. Yes, the very same pair.

Lea buzzes her parents' entry phone, and her dad answers.

"Lea! Dianna! Come up!"

I hear a woman's voice in the background.

"Marc, did you open the street door? Is it open? Lea, is it open?"

I hear a very distinctive bleep, and the street door opens with a click.

"It is open, mom! Comin' up!"

"Lea! The elevator is out of service! You have to use the stairs!"

She turns and grabs my hand and we start running up the stairs with our bags in our hands to her parents' apartment. I can smell a very nice aroma of food filling up the building down to the low ground.

I start panting on the second floor landing, but Lea drags me along nonetheless.

"Lea, what floor is it?"

"What?"

"Your... parents' apartment... what floor is it?" I gasp out.

"Oh! Sixth! Come on, giddy-up!"

"Are... you serious? S-sixth?"

"Fifth if you don't count the front stoop!"

"I did... count the f-... front stoop... _Shit_... It was more of a... mausoleum than a... front stoop."

"Come on! Who's the dramatic one now?"

"The... hyperventilating one. Whatever ha-happened to ele-elevators?

"Mom told us, it's out of order!"

As soon as we reach the sixth floor of the flat, my vision judders for a moment, and I feel my mind going dizzy and hazy.

"I feel like we've... died and gone to heaven... Only we had to climb up."

I wait for my eyes to clear, and then I look at Lea in those beautiful chocolate eyes.

She whispers "It's going to be okay, Di, I promise," and she mouths 'I love you'.

A beautiful woman opens the door before us, stopping me from hugging or kissing her daughter. I freeze on the spot, but she comes forward and gives Lea a big hug, and kisses me on each cheek. "Dianna?" "Yeah, it's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Sarfati!" "Oh, the pleasure is all mine, dear. Come on in, ladies!"

I see Lea's dad just behind Edith, and I introduce myself to him aswell. "Let me grab these and take them to your rooms!"

Edith has eyes that are just like Lea's – shape, color pattern – but smaller, she is very short and her smile is just as bright as Lea's, but less wide. Marc has big eyes, a wide smile and a funny, nice look about him.

"Come in ladies! I'm just done with the cooking. If you want to go to unpack or have a shower before we have lunch…"

"NO! Mom, I'm starving!" We all laugh at Lea's childlike whine, while Edith gives me a tour of the house.

"You have a very beautiful house Mrs. Sarfati."

"Call me Edith, please! Or Edie!" She smiles nicely to me as she gestures to Lea's bedroom, and then to the guest room, which is where I will sleep.

"Okay, Edith. Thank you for letting me stay here."

I put my purse on my bag in the guestroom, which has a double size bed with clean white linen, a nice window with a beautiful view on the Sound View Park, a few pictures hung up on the wall, showing classic sights of New York City.

"Oh, it's no biggie Dianna, we are always happy to have some company."

I notice that Edith gesticulates a lot when she speaks, even more than Lea does. She's Italian, so I guess it's ingrained.

"So where are you from, Dianna?"

"I was born in Georgia but I grew up in Texas and San Francisco."

"That's a nice place, I've heard!" She has bright eyes as she looks at me.

"Yeah, I love San Francisco. That's where I spent most of my high school years. There would always be a concert every night, and I fell in love with music there."

She hums smiling to me, and then yells "Marc! Set up the table!" very loudly. No wonder there, she is Lea's mother afterall.

"I can help! With the table I mean."

"Thank you Dianna. That's very kind of you."

We walk to the kitchen and Marc hands me four forks and four knives, smiling.

Lea is already sat at the table, waiting for her food. Ass.

"Look at your friend there, Dianna. Not moving one finger to help HER ELDERLY PARENTS!" She speaks loudly, directing her words to Lea.

"You're hardly elderly. You were dancing to Black Eyed Peas like there's no tomorrow last time I Skyped with dad. And you were very loud aswell."

We all sit around the table, as Edith serves us big portions of what she calls, pasta with zucchini and saffron cream.

"Oh well, look who's talking! _You_ are telling _me_ that I'm loud? That's the pot calling the kettle back."

"Mama, you _have_ to be loud to survive in the Bronx."

"You have always been peculiarly ear-piercing. See, Dianna, I always used to joke about this with Marc. Lea's phone bills were so expensive we once suggested she might aswell open the window and yell whatever she wanted to say, we could've saved a fortune."

"Well, I'm loud because I grew up here. When I was a baby, I had to cry louder than, say, children in Savannah to be heard over the sound of traffic, street crime and gunfires."

Gosh, do they speak fast!

"Lea, you're making the Bronx sound like it's some kind of living hell. I think it's quite a nice place! And the street crime rate dropped some years ago. Apparently, it started dropping when J Lo left her house here and started having success and going on tour, God knows why."

I laugh loudly at this, covering my grin with a hand. Lea huffs smiling, and Edith smirks at her. She seems to know how much of a drama queen her daughter can be.

"She's always the drama queen eh, Dianna?"

"Tell me about it." I grin playfully to Lea, and I get a nudge in the ribs for that.

We all laugh at that, and we start eating this delicious dish. I'm beginning to wonder if the reason I believed my mom to be such a great cook was actually the lack of competition. Because this… this is culinary heaven.

"This pasta is delicious Edith, can I get your recipe?" She beams at me.

"She cooked the one dish she can put together." Marc replies playfully, sweetly smiling to his wife in apology, but Edith answers briefly "Don't make me poison your food, Marc."

They are a very welcoming family. They are friendly and they ask me heartfelt questions about me and which kind of music I like, and if I like Broadway, and if I've ever seen a Broadway show – which I haven't, so Edith coaxes Lea into taking me to one – and what my parents are like and what my childhood has been like. I don't feel like they're being nosy or anything, they are genuinely interested about me.

And this warms my heart. I'm not nervous anymore.

* * *

><p>The big moment is coming.<p>

We finish our lunch between laughs and some sort of interrogation my parents are conducting against Dianna at the moment. Like, plunge her in the darkness and flash a lamplight at her face, people. At least do it right.

But she doesn't look like she minds at all, she looks at ease around my mom and dad. I wouldn't go so far as to say she loves my parents already, but she certainly believes parents generally to be a good thing, and that therefore their little quirks and idiocies are there to be loved, not exposed. She treats my dad's reservedness and boasts and non-sequiturs as waves, giant breakers, and she surfs over them with skill and pleasure and huge smiles. She gives my mom kind looks, and 'I loved that movie too's and shared relaxed silences, which my mom always appreciates.

I can see my mom loves her already. The fact that Dianna is polite, and asks her for recipes, and compliments the house, and likes to read, and tells about her childhood like she lived in some sort of fantasy land with rabbits and dogs and lions and circus tamers – which she kind of did – is already enough for her.

My dad is the quieter one, although I can see in his gentle eyes that he loves Dianna already. I knew he would. As soon as Dianna starts mentioning her liking for Bruce Springsteen, and R.E.M., and Tom Waits, and The Beatles, and Leonard Cohen, and Cole Porter and God knows who else, my dad's eyes shine bright, and I know Dianna just gained a hundred points.

As soon as the meal is over, Dianna offers to wash the dishes, and my mom beams at her, but she categorically declines: "Guests do not do the dishes!". My dad replies "That's right!" while sneaking into the bathroom, trying to dodge that dreadful task he hates, but then my mom comes back, "That's Marc's job," followed by an angry scowl coming from the bathroom.

Of course, now I have to tell them she's my girlfriend. While my mom and dad are playfully bantering over household responsibilities, I take Dianna to my bedroom and – dear God, no. It's not for what you're thinking. You twisted minds!

Anyways. I take Dianna to my bedroom, and I whisper to her "It's time to tell them."

"Okay. Do you want me to be there with you?"

"No. Don't take this as an offense, but I know they would react in a completely different way if you were there. They would walk on eggshells, and beat around the bush because they wouldn't want to hurt your feelings or say something about me that's inevitably going to be about you aswell. I want you to be here _for_ me. Just on the other side of the wall. I want my parents to be honest with me, and a conversation between just me and them… I feel like it's going to be easier. If that's okay with you."

"I understand. You know your parents, you know what works with them. I'll be just on the other side of the wall then, I'll look up for my hotel room for tonight while you talk with them." She chuckles.

I stand on my tip-toe to kiss her, tell her I love her and I rub her back soothingly.

Then I walk to the kitchen, suddenly very aware of my wobbly legs and of my heavy body and of how my arms are moving. I'm ready to face my parents.

Game on.


	15. A Time for Promises

**Disclaimers: I do not own The Beatles, Melissa Etheridge, Ellen DeGeneres, Glee, Lea, Dianna, or any of the characters/artists/films here mentioned.**

**Thank you for the reviews, I always appreciate them really much! :)**

**Thanks to achelefan (anonymous reviewer), whom I couldn't thank via PM (and to answer your question, yes, they will appear at some point during this story). :)**

**Stick with me, we've got still a lot to go!**

**Chapter 15 – A time for promises**

"Mom? Dad?"

I can hear family sounds: pots and pans, the squishing sound of dishes being washed, the clatter of platters being piled up.

As I peek inside the kitchen, I see dad in my mom's apron doing the dishes. Charming, papa. Mom is cleaning up the counter, and everytime she glances at her husband, she dissolves into a quiet chuckle.

"Listen, Edie, I'm doing the dishes now! You see? I got rubber gloves, soapy foam, a colorful, lacy apron… Isn't that all you want to see on a husband?"

"Such a winning combination… like dress shirts and bow ties."

These lines again. To my parents, a joke is not a single-use item but something you bring out again and again and over again until it falls apart in your hands like a cheap umbrella bought in a flea market.

My mom finally whips her head around to see me swaying awkwardly from side to side, not really wanting to interrupt their bantering but clearly conscious that this has to be dealt with.

"Lea! Do you want to help your dad do the dishes?"

"Not really. I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh." My mom's expression is observant, almost on the alert. She sits down, patting the chair next to her, and telling my dad to sit down as well.

My mom looks at me and smiles lopsidedly, "Well, what did you want to tell us, ladybug?"

Oh, 'ladybug'. She called me like that when I was younger and still lived with them. She once told me it was because a ladybug had landed on her belly before she got her pregnancy test results. After that, she just knew she was expecting.

"Okay. Mom, dad… You know, uh…"

Shoot. Why haven't I googled how to come out? Can I call Ellen DeGeneres and ask for advice? Is singing a Melissa Etheridge song to your parents considered a proper coming out? Why is there not a book I could read about this? Is there? Can I order it on Ebay right now and get it shipped to my parents' front door in the next three minutes? No?

I turn around slightly to see Dianna in my living room. She brought a book to read. It's _The Cemetery Book: Graveyards, Catacombs and Other Travel Haunts Around the World_. Well, ever the unpredictable one. I bet she's thinking something along the lines of 'This is so beautiful, it looks peaceful, I should go see it one day, this is definitely going in my bucket list'. Ha. Her bucket list of things she wants to see before she's dead includes cemeteries around the world. Isn't that ironic?

She looks so beautiful, so serene on my parents' living room couch, slowly moving her slender fingers across the pages. She suddenly gives a short chuckle, then catches herself laughing at a book and regains her composure, her expression falling serious again. How can you _laugh_ at a book about cemeteries, seriously? Did the author crack a joke about tombs and graves and skeletons and zombies and _dead _people? Heh, I don't think so.

_Gosh, I hope he didn't._

I turn to look at my parents again. Their eyes are sweet and caring as ever.

I can do this.

"Okay. I don't exactly know how to best put this, but I guess there is no right or wrong way. I just hope you will understand that what I'm going to say is true, and heartfelt, and telling you and having your support means a lot to me."

I inhale, trying to control my ragged breathing.

"I have… fallen in love." A tear is running down my mom's cheek, and my dad gets quite self-conscious. He grows easily uncomfortable towards the display of feelings, so he fidgets on his chair, fumbling with his fingers on the lacy apron.

My mom is smiling softly at me, her tear now slowly reaching her chin. I catch it with my forefinger, and I smile back to her.

"Mom, why are you crying?"

She sighs, looks down at her joined hands, and then glances back at me.

"It's just that… I know."

"You know I'm in love?"

"Yes. It shows. It shines through your eyes and when you smile."

Oh.

"You know who I'm in love with, as well?" The sentence pours out of my mouth in a tentative, almost hearable whisper before I can even think it over.

She shifts her gaze from my right eye to my left eye, and nods almost imperceptibly. My dad looks like he's about to crumble to dust on his chair out of uneasiness.

"How do you-"

"You stare at each other like you are the only ones in the room. She gazes at you like you're the center of her world. And seeing you bashful around a person is quite rare, yet she manages to get you all shy and blushing."

My heart swells with affection against my sternum.

My dad is looking down at his lap, still fumbling with the lace of his apron. If he continues with this strong dedication, the poor smock will unravel in his hands by the end of this talk.

"Well, I'm in love with her… I'm in love with Dianna." My mom winces a little, but stretches her lips in a hesitant smile nonetheless, looking down at her joined hands and then to my dad. She reaches out for his hand, and he intertwines their fingers.

"It just… happened. I don't know how, I don't know why, she just got me spellbound. She's… she's special. You spoke to her, you saw for yourself that she's truly one of a kind."

My mom is still looking at their interlaced fingers, and so is my dad.

"Please look at me?" I can feel the back of my throat prickling and my eyes tingling. Shoot. _Keep it together, Lea, keep it together. Rein it in._

My mom then locks her eyes with mine. I feel freezed to the spot. She used to have that same look on her face when I was younger and she would find out I had fibbed about where I'd been with Jon or how I spent the evening with my boyfriend. Her eyes look sad, but a peculiar kind of sad: sad because I haven't told her something, because I haven't confided in her.

I take a quick glance to see how my dad is coping, and he stretches his mouth, trying to give me some kind of support, in a soft smile, a smile so unnatural and uncomfortable that I'm surprised he doesn't have to use his fingers.

"How long have you been together?"

This is my mom asking, the question petering out in almost a whisper.

"We've been together since November."

"Why are you telling us now, why not before?" My mom's voice is quivering.

"I wanted to tell you right from the very first moment. I was itching to tell you… But I thought a conversation like this had to be handled face-to-face. I couldn't bring myself to blurt it all out on the phone. I was here in New York during winter holidays, and I wanted to tell you on Christmas but you were on that cruise to the Caribbean Sea..."

My mom looks at my dad for a second, then back at me, smiling softly. The dejected look and the tears are gone.

"I know this is hard to deal with. But you have to believe me when I say that I'm in love with her. She's part of my life now, and since you're my parents and I miss you everyday when I'm away… I like to pretend I'm a big girl now, but I still want my mom and dad to be part of my life too, and to tell me that they're proud of me and- and that's why I wanted to t-tell you so badly and-"

I am the teary one now. Why am I?

My mom and dad both stand up and come to hug me from behind, thumbing my tears away from my cheeks, and handing me tissues.

"Shh ladybug, it's alright. We'll always be proud of you, little songbird. We love you, okay? And if your feelings are true and honest, we'll love her as well. We already love her, we just need some time to get used to this. Shh, stop crying baby. It's okay. We are here, and we are telling you that it's okay, and that we're happy if she makes you happy."

I whimper "She does, she does," and then I slowly calm down.

My mom rubs soothing circles on my back, and she looks at me, and then at Dianna, who is pretending to read her book, but I can see her eyes raking concernedly over me.

"Dianna, you can come here if you want to."

Dianna shoots up to her feet in a second and walks slowly towards me and my parents almost prudently, a bit unsure of what to expect from them.

"It's nice to meet my daughter's girlfriend." My mom offers her hand smiling softly, and when Dianna shakes it and then beams at me, my mom kisses her again on each cheek.

My dad does the same, still a bit edgily uncomfortable.

"Now girls, why don't you give us a few hours to… compose ourselves, and you can have a walk around the city and then meet us for a dinner at a restaurant of your choice?"

"Sounds great, mom." I smile at her.

Thank heavens I didn't have to sing some Melissa Etheridge. God knows I don't like folk music.

* * *

><p>"How did it go then?"<p>

I pronounce the first words after we left the apartment, while walking in comfortable silence along Lafayette Ave.

"It was fine. They were a bit edgy at first, but when I broke down they comforted me, and said it was okay, and that if I love you, they would love you too."

"Sounds like I'll have to call off my hotel reservation for tonight."

"What? You booked a hotel room?"

I laugh at her, and she swats my arm as we walk hand in hand, across the meadow of Soundview park.

"You can see the Bronx River from here, you know? It's not much of a river, but still…"

It's not much of a river, of course, if what you want is a river that contains even the faintest hint of blue or azure, and maybe one that might roar and crash waves against the shore, or at least flow towards something. This river seems committed to a resourceful range of charcoal grey-blacks, with the occasional suggestion of muddy green, and utterly devoted to laziness and peaceful serenity.

But what is good about New York is its air. In Los Angeles the air is often something you peer through, like a neglected fish tank, because of heat and humidity. Here everything is bright and sharp, clear and translucent.

She cranes her head to look up at me, and says "Why did you wear your wedge-heeled shoes?"

"Because I like them?"

"Yeah, but I'm wearing flats and I positively look like I might be your daughter, or something."

I kiss her lips and then I peck her neck as we walk by a group of friends, then she smirks at me and says loudly, making sure she's being heard:

"I hope you realize, Miss Agron, that I'm only 15 years old!"

I get horrified looks and a couple of grimaces in my direction. Lea keeps simpering at me, and then smiles back to the group of friends, waving excitedly to some of them.

"This lady here is 22! She's my same age!" I state out loud, looking at them.

The horrified looks only deepen in frowns, as if I'm trying to make up excuses.

"_I can't believe you sometimes_," I hiss at her, while she's still simpering innocently and coyly.

Then I finally holler: "Listen people, it's not my fault if she's a midget!"

I snicker at Lea as she swats my arm, then I start running and she yells to me: "Come here! Don't leave your little lover here on her own! Miss Agron!"

Then she huffs, and starts chasing after me. I suddenly halt and turn around, and she practically runs in my arms so we both end up tumbling on the ground, laughing ourselves silly while lying on the warm grass.

"Oh, you're going to kill me one day, Miss Agron."

"That's highly unlikely."

She sighs and rests her head on my shoulder.

"You're so dramatic. About everything. About evvvv'rything the light touches." I stretch my arms out to the meadow for the veracity of my statement.

"I'm not!"

"Oh, trust me, you are."

I grin at her, and she looks at me intently in the eyes. It's approximatively five in the afternoon, and the sun is lowering just behind the tall buildings, unraveling long shadows and sharp silhouettes.

"Are you happy? You know, being here, getting to know my parents…"

"Me? God no, I'm terrified."

She laughs, "Can you ever be serious?"

"Yes. Yes, I am happy about being here in New York and about getting to know Edith and Marc. Yes, I am happy about being here with you."

She cranes her head a little from my shoulder, where it's resting, to look up at me.

"Your eyes…"

"What about them?"

"They've never been so… bright. It's like watching a sunrise."

She grins lopsidedly up at me, and I roll her down so I'm lying on top of her.

"Gosh, Miss Agron, we're in public!" She feigns disbelief and shock, but I kiss her before she goes on with her act.

"We'll… end up… in… jail… if you… don't stop… kissing me." Each of her words is cut off by a kiss I plant on her lips or on her throat or on her collarbone.

"I don't think so."

"Make out session in public? They shoot people for less than that. There's a guillotine out back, near the basketball fields."

"Stupid… ass…" Now she's the one kissing me, and strangling the words in my throat.

"Compliments? Compliments before dinner? Are you trying to get laid or something?" She chuckles, and I roll off of her, intertwining our fingers and threading my free hand through her soft hair. As I look up to the blue, unclouded sky, a very peculiar feeling of pure freedom and elation strikes me. I can't recall a time when I've been happier than I am now.

After a while, I start humming a melody absentmindedly.

"What's that?"

"What?"

"That song you're humming. What is it?"

"Oh! It's… _Michelle_ by The Beatles."

"Sing it to me."

"Ok, but I have to warn you, my voice quality is far off from yours."

"Shush and sing for me, lady."

_Michelle, my belle.__  
><em>_These are words that go together well,__  
><em>_My Michelle._

_Michelle, my belle.__  
><em>_Sont des mots qui vont très bien ensemble,__  
><em>_Très bien ensemble._

_I love you, I love you, I love you.__  
><em>_That's all I want to say.__  
><em>_Until I find a way__  
><em>_I will say the only words I know that__  
><em>_You'll understand._

_I need to, I need to, I need to.__  
><em>_I need to make you see,__  
><em>_Oh, what you mean to me.__  
><em>_Until I do I'm hoping you will__  
><em>_Know what I mean._

_I want you, I want you, I want you.__  
><em>_I think you know by now__  
><em>_I'll get to you somehow.__  
><em>_Until I do I'm telling you so__  
><em>_You'll understand. _

"Your voice is… uh, it's incredible."

I huff, "No, it's not!"

She threads her fingers in the blades of grass, and she picks up a small daisy, twirling it in between her thumb and index. Then she looks at me intently and smirks a little, "It kind of makes me want to jump you right here and now."

I can almost feel my eyeballs rolling out of my sockets. "Oh. Must be wonderful then!"

"Don't flatter yourself, Miss Agron," she taps her finger on my nose, and then she puts the daisy behind my ear, kissing my cheek. I don't quite understand how I can feel this drunk without a single drop to drink. Though I know this sensation is somehow related to the beautiful, petite brunette threading her fingers absentmindedly through grass blades just beside me.

I smile to myself, remembering the first time we met, when I thought it would be nice to sing that song out to her, one day.

Little did I know five months later we would be here in New York as lovers, still unable to stop grinning at each other for the novelty of it all.

* * *

><p>"I've got a wwwond'rful idea!"<p>

Dianna is speaking in a freaky, 50's accent that could be used in some movie.

"We'll spend the day doing thinnngs we've never done before."

Oh. It's clear now.

"Like _Breakfast at Tiffany's_?"

"Like _Breakfast at Tiffany's_! Yes!"

She claps her hands excitedly.

"We'll take turns! First something you've never done, then me."

We're walking down the 7th Ave after a bus ride that got us to Manhattan, and right now I obviously can't thing of a single thing I've never done before.

"You can start, I'll have to think about it."

"Okay! I've never told a taxi driver to 'follow that car'!" She claps excitedly.

"Dianna, we can't just hop in a taxi and tell the cabbie that. We don't even have anyone to chase down."

"We'll just pick a random car to follow! Come on, the cabbie will be excited and happy to do that!"

She's grinning at me.

"But what if that random car is going to Newark or God knows where else?"

"We are not going to chase that car down for hours! Just ten minutes, just for kicks!"

She grins at me brightly.

I huff, "Okay, okay, we'll do it, fine. But if we get stuck in a traffic jam and can't get in time to the Perbacco Restaurant to have dinner with my parents I'm blaming you!"

"Sounds perfect!"

And here we go. She walks to the sidewalk border, jutting out her head to hail a cab. She starts waving and gesticulating wildly in what looks like a complicated series of signals.

"What are you doing, silly head?"

She smiles excitedly at me, "I'm trying to hail a cab!"

She's such a cutepie.

"I love you, but that, in all probability, is going to scare them away. What you need is a street hail."

I take her hand and step off the sidewalk and onto the street, raising my hand confidently.

A cabbie sees me and screeches to a halt just before us.

"See? 'ts easy!"

As we step into the taxi, the cabbie asks us if we're having a good day, Dianna squeals excitedly, he luckily accepts that as a yes and inquires where we want to go, so she requests to the poor man to 'follow that car'.

He turns around and peeks at us from above the partition, in a look of total shock.

"Really? Do I get to do that?"

Dianna nods fervently to him and points to a red car passing by.

They share a weird, 'it's on' kind of intense glance, then he turns around back again to his steering wheel, starting the car.

"It's on!" hollers Dianna, and the funny cabbie laughs and mutters something under his breath, something I might have understood clearly.

"Are you Italian?" I ask to the funny guy.

"Yes! Si! Tu sei italiana?"

"Nope. Well, I have Italian origins."

"Can you speak Italian?" the funny guy peeks at me through the rear-view mirror.

"Un po'. Non tanto bene."

"Oh, I see. It's cool though! Knowing some bits of another language, isn't it?"

"Yeah, definitely!"

Dianna's staring at me like I just sprouted a second head.

"What?"

"You… speak Italian?"

"No, I just understand everyday talk and I know some phrases, that's all."

She snuggles closer to me, whispering in my ear: "You should speak Italian to me more often. It's deliriously sexy."

Oh. Well, who knew that listening to my old grandma's rants in Italian would turn me into a sexpot?

* * *

><p>After a taxi chase, a very loud and very public singing session in the subway, a very schlocky tour of downtown New York (we also took pictures and flashed the peace sign in almost all of them), a random bout of wig shopping, half an hour of answering questions with other questions, and a couple of minutes spent flirting with the Naked Cowboy, I guess we can finally call it a day, and make our way to the restaurant.<p>

The Perbacco Restaurant is a small, dimly lit Italian restaurant, with wooden settles and chairs and elegant chandeliers creating an altogether elegant and refined ambience.

As we say hi to a much friendlier Edith and a much calmer Marc, we step inside the warm place and get greeted by an amiable hostess who speaks Italian as well as English. She shepherds to our table, and hands us menus.

"So, girls, how was your day in the city?" Edith asks.

I gaze at Lea while she answers, and in this dimly lit room, she still manages to glow; the word 'sun-kissed' randomly comes up to my mind and I think I'd like to kiss her, take hold of her face and kiss her. It's not the right moment though. We'll have time for that later.

Edie and Marc ask me what I like to do when I have time off Glee and if I like to party, and my answer surprises them, and I guess they might like me. A bit. I see what they're doing. They're testing me. But it's only fair, I guess.

"I suspect I will never party in my bra in a room full of foam, but that's fine. I like to read instead, go to galleries with friends, dance around, watch movies, and sometimes I visit my family back in San Fran and pretend I still live there with them."

Edie smiles brightly and me, and then at Lea, and then to her husband.

Lea gives a Jane Austen sigh with that damn swollen mouth, her breath smelling of the red wine we're drinking, her incredibly enormous eyes a bit hazy and glazed, and the word 'beauteous' comes up to my mind. 'Beauteous'? What are you, Emily Brontë? Don't get carried away, be sensible. Damn it, red wine on an empty stomach makes me woozy.

Edie, Marc, Lea and I speak of petty things, like music – not that music is petty, it's just… you know what I mean – and movies and places we've been to and friends we've lost. The truth is, these things matter, and it's no good pretending that any relationship or friendship has a future if your record collections disagree violently, or if your favorite movies wouldn't even speak to each other if they met at a party. We have one of those conversations where everything clicks, meshes, corresponds, locks, where even our pauses, even our punctuation marks, seem to be nodding in agreement. The Beatles and the Rolling Stones, 1940's musicals, Lucille Ball and Fred Astaire, _A Fish Called Wanda_ and _Barefoot in the Park_, Baltimore and Chicago, sports and Chinese food (yes, no, yes, absolutely yes, yes, yes, no, yes, no, yes).

The evening goes with that sort of breathtaking joke precision.

I get to know Lea's parents, who are two very warmhearted individuals.

Marc is in a suit in which he is visibly comfortable in, so I take it he does work which requires smart clothes, and he has got the sort of car keys that you jangle confidently, so he's obviously got a BMW or a Batmobile or something flash. But I can see he doesn't take his job too seriously by the way he laughs. You know, it's often the people who take their work seriously that either think that having a sense of humor, like a political conscience, is a bit uncool and embarassing, or they will laugh at the stupidest jokes, as if they are under-humored and, as a consequence, suffer from premature laugh-emission. He's not like that. He's got a good sense of humor, he's likeable and he tells me how it was to dance in New York pubs to the latest Bruce Springsteen or Patti Smith song.

Edie is a lovely, sweet and caring woman, and she has most of Lea's mannerisms and idiosyncrasies, like fumbling with her fingers while she waits for her food because she's so hungry she's uneasy, or speaking fast and in a deep voice, or gesticulating and flailing her hands about when she's trying to get her point across. All of these oddities only make me more at ease, because deep inside, I know her. Or at least, I know some of her, the Lea side of her.

Edie often likes to engage with her husband in playful bantering, like when they talk about a friend of theirs with whom they're not in touch anymore.

"She was one of the people at parties who used to go 'Wooh-wooh!' to the fade-out of _Brown Sugar_," he goes.

"There is no greater crime than that, as far as you're concerned, is there?"

"The only thing that runs it close is smacking your thighs and clapping your hands throughout _We Will Rock You_, like you're Freddy Mercury's personal band and therefore responsible for the backing rhythm, like he just _needs_ that sort of smacking confusion to cover his voice."

"I used to do that."

"You didn't."

The joking has stopped, and Marc looks at Edie appalled. She roars.

"You believed me! You believed me! You must think I'm capable of _anything_."

As exhaustion and food and red wine creep into our systems, we decide to crawl our way back home. Not literally crawl, because Marc has a car and he's driving us home, but… you know. Metaphorically speaking.

As I walk in my room and change in sleep clothes, Lea sneaks inside. She's wearing a hoodie and capri pants, her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she looks stupidly gorgeous.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss.

"This room is soundproofed."

Like this could explain why she's -

Oh.

"Wait, are you suggesting…?"

"No, I'm demanding."

"Mmh, Lea. You and your honeyed words," I smirk at her.

"Di, you heartbreaker, listen to me."

"Yes?"

"I stared at you all evening. You were wonderful tonight. They love you. And you looked deliriously sexy in that little dress and in your wedge-heeled shoes."

"Oh, look who appreciates my shoes again."

"Shush, you charmer. You sweet, sexy, spellbinding charmer."

* * *

><p>There's one particular thing I haven't done to her yet, and tonight, I'm going to take it. I'm ready and she will have the most mind-blowing orgasm of all times. I'm going to take it from her, I'm going to make her remember about this when we're apart. I need her to remember me when she's talking to other people, in her flirtatious demeanor, and when she's dedicated to her projects and when she's working on a screenplay and when she reads books and when she will be married to a kind and chivalrous man, ten years from now, with a couple of children, a nice home and three Oscars on her bedroom drawer.<p>

Besides, I'm a little woozy and confident thanks to that red wine, and the combination of alcohol and Dianna made it hard to listen to my parents rambling on and on all evening.

I bring my lips up onto Dianna's, offering a little bit of everything, just like that first panic-struck kiss. That mouth, that glorious mouth. She gasps under the move, and jerks back.

"Your parents… This is your parents' house!"

"And this room is soundproofed. The whole house is. When I was 15 my parents decided that the neighbors had had enough of my voice."

I press my mouth back into her lips, and I snake my arms around her shoulders. Her hands drops to my waist and she jerks our bodies together.

Oh gosh, I missed these lips. I know them like the back of my hand. Every dip, every flow, every curve. I make love to her lips like I do everyday, hoping to put enough passion and adoration into it so that she will never forget me. So that I will not end up in a dark corner of her mind, the one dedicated to her 'experimental phases' or, even worse, 'failed relationships'.

I kiss those lips like it's the first, and the last time I'll ever get to kiss them because if she wakes up tomorrow, and is overwhelmed by it all and runs away, at least I know that we had _this_. That we had _today_ and that it was real and that it was perfect. I need her to remember that forever, even seventy years from now, when her hair will be grey and her wise eyes will still be of a ravishing hazel and she will entertain her grandchildren with beautiful fairytales she will write and her sweet, soothing voice.

I kiss her because I need her to remember forever that at one point in her life, she loved me.

I kiss her because I hope that this lasts forever, and that I will never have to say goodbye to my beautiful blonde goddess. My Dianna.

She lets me make the move inside, and she opens her mouth wider and I crawl in. I attempt to delve deeper but all I can feel is Dianna moaning into me, and the sound brings back memories of her gasping underneath me, of her groaning on top of me, of her head snapping back against the mattress. I immediately want more.

This rush of sensations makes me bolder, so I guide her until the back of her knees buckle right onto the foot of the bed.

Her hands slide up to the back of my neck, and then tugs onto my ponytail until my hair falls loosely on my shoulders. Her slender fingers are instantly threading through it.

She shuffles backwards, her eyes still on me, to the headrest of the bed. As she does so, she fists the front of my hoodie and yanks until I'm on top of her. God, she is perfect. She is perfect in a white ragged T-shirt and black shorts, without make-up. How does she manage this kind of perfection? This is… killer perfection. She looks like a perfectly gorgeous mythological creature.

I tug on her T-shirt and pull it over her head. As her back arches off the mattress to let the garment slide off, I swallow the gasp threatening to escape my lips. She is so beautiful.

I lean down and take her right breasts in my mouth, taking in as much as I can. Her hand immediately snaps to the back of my neck and a moan pours from the perfect lips just above me. I replace my mouth with my fingers, and switch to the other, flicking and sucking and lapping and rolling my tongue all over it.

Dianna squirms against me, and I feel my head swimming. I swear I must be drunk on something.

She moans again when I tug the hem of her shorts, quietly requesting permission, and I whisper in her neck between kisses and nips, "Let me love you."

Her hands fly to my stomach, snaking underneath my hoodie and she palms my breasts roughly, her slender fingers gripping me so abruptly I can't help but moan.

I gently push her hands off, and whisper again against her collarbone, "Please, let _me_ love _you_."

She whimpers and murmurs a confused sequence of "Yeah. Okay. Okay. Yes. Alright." while I slip my hand down into her shorts, underneath her underwear and between her soaked folds, and I feel beyond intoxicated. She moans and I whisper, "I need to taste you."

Her eyes snap open, her pupils are fully blown and her lips are puffy and swollen, and I go from intoxicated to fully wasted.

I peel off her shorts and underwear, and I trail down her front with my mouth.

"Ohmygod… Oh… my…" She moans, her hands tangling in my hair, as her eyes roll closed.

Oh my God indeed. This goddess underneath me is squirming and moaning, and when I finally see her fully, all I want to do is eat her alive.

So I snake my arms under her ass and dip my head until I'm facing her directly. Oh God, this scent. Dianna's scent. It haunted my dreams when we had started dating and we wouldn't have sex and I managed to detect it when we made out. It haunts my dreams even now, I can never get enough of it.

As I open my mouth and dip in, lips and tongue meet other lips, much more secret and private lips. She moans throatily and she raises her hips up to meet me more fully, so I move a hand to her stomach, pushing her down again.

"I can't believe… you're actually… doing it," she moans, her head snapping to one side, "Oh shit, I'm going to be loud."

"Welcome to New York, my lady." I murmur, hot air blowing over her wetness.

"Have I told you that… _oh God, oh…_ I love New York?"

"What do you like about it?" I tease her from her folds, laying my tongue flat and dragging it all the way up Dianna.

"I like, _oh my God_," she moans.

"You like, what?" I smile through juices, and slide my left hand up and grip a nipple.

"I like, _ah_! I like the… _ohmygod_, skyscrapers…"

"Mhm…" I hum against her center, dancing my tongue around her nub.

"The… air..."

"Huh-huh," I lick her up, swirling around her hot center.

"And the people, and… _oh shiiit, do that again_," she groans gruffly, so I pull her clit in my mouth again and suck.

"And?" I mumble over sucking her clit back into my mouth.

"And, and, and your lips and your mouth and your everything, _fuck_," she moans.

"How come you swear so much?" I mutter, before drawing both her lower lips into my mouth and massaging them with my tongue.

"You… you… you ripped something open and, _God_, how I love your lips!"

I look up at her for a second, and she looks like a lioness. A sexy, hot lioness, with her head snapped back, her neck muscles writhing like she wants to escape her own body, her eyes tightly shut, her mouth dropped open and her hands in my hair.

God, I love this. I love the taste, I love her strong thighs shaking against my ears and her clawed fingers tugging at my hair. It's perfect.

I stop my ministrations, and wait for her to lock eyes with me.

She raises her head off the mattress, looking confusedly around her, then into my eyes.

"Why…"

With my eyes still locked with hers, I give her clit quick little sucks by enveloping it with my mouth momentarily and releasing it again and again, and her head snaps back to the bed.

"Oh, oh my, _yes_! There, there, yes…" I alternate quick sucks with long gentle ones, and flicks of my tongue over and around it.

"OH MY GOD, you're incredible! You're gorge-oh, oooh-us," she moans, as I smirk against her, delighted.

I lick, and suck, and kiss directly on it, never providing a break.

As I lower my tongue to her entrance, swirling hard and fast, she cries out, "Oh, oh shit, oh fuck… Fuckfuckfuck…"

Her legs tremble uncontrollably and her fingers thread and fist my hair, before she arches off the bed and slams back on it again with a deep moan. Her body shakes and she falls apart under me, gasping, her hands clutching her chest.

I peck her center and crawl back up to the blonde mess quivering above me. I just went down on my beautiful girlfriend on the guest room bed of my parents' apartment. The simple truth of this strikes me only when I look at her stunning face.

My Dianna.

She looks at nothing in particular: sunshine, joyness, rainbows, birds chirping and dolphins and kittens and smiles and angels.

Her head bobbles right and she grins dreamily at me. Her after-sex goofy grin. I'll never get enough of it.

She raises her head off the mattress, and comes to snuggle her nose in my neck.

"My goodness, what got into you? Not that I'm complaining."

"I just really really wanted to taste you."

She pecks my neck and I feel her smirking against my skin.

"You're so pretty."

"You're drunk."

"Lea, I'm not drunk. I'm woozy off wine and a mind-blowing orgasm, yes, but I'm not drunk. Your lips and your tongue are a weapon of mass destruction. A really, really talented and sexy weapon."

Yes. Mission accomplished.

She moves on top of me, her chin digging into my sternum, but I don't have the heart to move her. Her hazel expanses bore into me. Those eyes, those beautiful eyes.

What I wouldn't give to have those hazel eyes staring back at me every morning for the rest of my life. All about us, every minute, every smile, every touch, screams of forever.

"Do you think you could love me enough to be with me forever?" The question peters out in a whisper. She smiles softly and drags her slender fingers across my face, then taps my nose.

"I already love you enough to last just about nine lives. Like a cat!"

I ponder for a second over her reply.

"Really?" The childish, silly, inane question drops in the ringing silence of the soundproofed room.

"You don't believe me?"

I shrug, so she moves her head up until our foreheads are touching, and she wraps her arms around my lower back.

"Look at me. Look at me, snowflake."

There she is. Hazel-honeyed anchors harboring my bewitched soul.

"Now listen to me. And please believe every word, because I'm handing you my heart right now."

I nod softly, and she starts.

"The first time your eyes found mine, I couldn't believe how enormous they were. I think I blacked out for a couple of minutes, because they kept intruding my thoughts, like they could read all of me, and it scared the hell out of me. Then you smiled, and introduced yourself, and when you said 'Lea Michele' with your chirpy voice, all I could think about was the song, _Michelle_. I had this weird fantasy that one day I would sing it out to you, and today I did, and I couldn't believe it. I fell in love with you when I first locked my eyes with yours, and it confused the hell out of me. I fell in love with you when I hugged you for the first time, and I had to get a cold shower right after, because that's what your proximity does to me. I fell in love with you the first time I heard you sing _On My Own_, and it wrecked me. I fell in love with you when I saw you drunk for the first time and you kissed my nape and called me a 'freaking goddess', and it made me smile. I fell in love with you when you told me about your childhood and I could feel your unapologetic drive and passion. I fell in love with your when you snuggled close to me that night, and told me 'Goodmornight'. I fell in love with you when I saw you sleeping for the first time, your hands curled up in fists and your lips pouting, like a 15 year old. I fell in love with you when you cooked for me and brought me to that amazing screening of _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. I fell in love with you when you kissed me right before my apartment door on our first date, and said to me 'Heartbreaker, you', and I was terrified, because I craved for a slight inkling of control or I would tumble, giving you everything in an instant, and I couldn't go there, not yet. I fell in love with you when you dragged me behind a bush to kiss me. I fell in love with you when we made love for the first time, and every other time after that. Lea, I fall in love with you every day when I wake up and see you on my bed. I fall in love with you when you arrange the sweeteners packets by color and then by brand, when you reorganize your cd collection by category, when I see your brows scrunch up in frustration when you can't find your clothes. When you call me 'my lady', because I am yours. When your chortle gets loud and brash. When you get dramatic and I have to calm you down. When I hear you say 'Fuckin asshole' in that blunt accent. When you make me laugh like there's no tomorrow, like there couldn't be any tomorrow if we weren't laughing together. Because it's true, there couldn't be. Lea Sarfati, you got me spellbound the second I saw your eyes. Do you think that's enough love for 'forever'?"

"You charmer. You sweet, sexy, spellbinding charmer."


	16. Yafa sheli

**Sorry for the wait guys, but I really appreciate your impatience to read what happens :D**

**I love you all.**

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**Chapter 16 – Yafa Sheli**

_May 26th, 2009_

"Hello, Lea!"

A very familiar, poised and gentle voice I can only associate with a certain person fizzes in my phone.

"Hey, hi gent! How are you?"

"All is swell, thank you. I just called you to say that I'm starting to organize a surprise party at my house for Chris."

Chris? Wait a minute...

"Sorry, I must have had the wrong impression. Who is this?"

"I'm Chris, Lea! Jesus, we've been knowing each other for months and you still can't recognize my voice?"

"No, I did actually but…"

I silently replay the words he said in my head, and then a sudden understanding hits me.

"You said you're going to organize a surprise party… for yourself?"

"Exactly, that's the idea. I shall gather a few people together, try to forget that I called them, take myself out of my bedroom only to be slapped raw on my back by well-wishers I never expected to be there in a billion years!"

"I must say, Mister Colfer, you are a mastermind."

"Tell me something I don't know Lea, I know me."

He laughs, and I snicker a bit, baffled.

"So how's the organization going?"

"It's harder than I thought. I tried calling up some old friends, and I guess you might aswell ask people if they'd like to take a year off and travel around the world on a hot air balloon with you as ask them if they'd like to go out for a quick drink at my house later on. Later on, to them, means only later on in the month, or the year, or the decade, but never later on on the same day. 'Tonight?' they all go, all these people I haven't spoken to for months, former neighbors or boyfriends or old high school friends. 'Later on _tonight_?' They're aghast, they're baffled, they're kind of amused, but most of all they just can't believe it. Someone's calling and suggesting a drink tonight, out of the blue, no personal organizer to hand, no lists of alternative dates, no lengthy consultation with a partner? Preposterous."

"Wait, so is it _tonight_?" I am quite appalled.

"Oh gosh, not you too."

"I was just kidding! Ha-ha, see? I was kidding. I just need to ask Dianna here if… DIANNA!"

Her gruff voice comes from her armchair by the bay window. She's reharsing the lines for the next episode. Luckily she has proper scenes in this one. "Yeah?"

"You up for Chris' surprise birthday party tonight?"

"Who's organizing?"

"Uh, Chris is."

She shrugs, and says "Okay."

"Chris! You still there? Hello?"

"No, I'm riding a llama in Neverland- what do you think? Of course I'm still here."

"Okay. Yeah well, Dianna and I are coming! Who else is?"

"Oh, our golden couple, how nice to hear that. Everyone else from Glee is going to be there plus some old friends of mine! All four of 'em."

"Nice, nice. Should we bring something?"

"Just you and Dianna. My place, 8 pm, tonight!"

"Oh my God, so you were serious, it really is tonight? As in 6 hours?"

"Screw you."

I roar. He hangs up. Oh well. Time to shower.

* * *

><p><em>Later on, May 26th, 2009<em>

"What the-"

Okay. This is… it's… mayhem.

We have arrived at Chris'. It's 9 pm. We are fashionably late, because I fashionably got sidetracked by Lea's naked form sprinting out of the shower which obviously led to… putting off our unfashionably on time leaving.

It's 9 pm but the apartment is already full of people, and the speakers of Chris' Wii sound system are blasting _Just Dance_ at a volume so high I bet even Lady Gaga herself is able to hear the whole thing right now all the way to her home, wherever that is.

"Oh… my… God."

As my eyes rake over the large living room, many disturbing images burn themselves into my mind with a clarity and crispness that send me to a cold sweat. I'll have nightmares tonight.

Naya is beside Heather at the kitchen counter, intoning a cheerleading chant and applauding along. "Pour it!", clap, clap, "Gulp it down!", clap, clap, "Let's," clap, "make," clap, "SHOTS!". Damn. She's gotten good at it. I wonder if she keeps her own folder with cheers filed under different categories and situations they might come in handy.

Heather is obviously swigging multiple shots like it's no biggie, with an impressing commitment to it. This girl must have an incredibly well-functioning liver. Maybe she just has a couple of livers. Is that possible, having a couple of livers? I bet Heather has them.

Jenna is trying to balance a spoon on her nose, which is kind of amazing, I will admit, since her nose cannot exactly be described as protruding, and she's trying to let Amber know that she can do it ('Amber, Amber, look at me!'), but Amber is distracted. She's playing Dance Stage Hottest Party on Chris' Wii, and sometimes she just sends the poor wireless remote across the room onto the couch when she can't get moves right. Kevin, Mark, and Cory are taking part in an intense tournament of Rock, Paper, Scissors, Spock, Lizard, hollering the game's chant, with their hands banging on the coffee table.

And what I can tell you now is, they're probably not even drunk. Well, maybe Heather is, but she's the one person behaving normally in here. These kids here are sober. And seeing them acting the way they are now and knowing for a fact that they are clearheaded… is intimidating.

The other people in here are in varying states of confusion, and some of them are watching my friends with the same curiosity and absorpion with which people usually observe animals at the zoo. Maybe these people will ask for peanuts and they will start throwing them at my friends. And I know for a fact that Cory would indubitably jump up and down to catch them.

I glance at Lea beside me, who is showing my same petrified look.

"Do you think they saw us? Do you think that if we act quick enough, we can still turn around and run hom-"

A tall boy I can't put a name to is suddenly all over me, with his arms around my neck, trying to talk into my face.

"This place is great. It's awesome!"

He grins lopsidedly, his gaze so glazed but still so doting that I suddenly wonder if he's searching for something on my face.

"This place is awesome!" He yells at me, trying to get his point across, alcoholic breath wafting into my face.

"Uhm, yeah." I mutter, trying to disentangling from his embrace.

A weird silence follows, interrupted only by Lea, who's panting behind him in her effort to push him away from me, and he suddenly looks around him, doumbfounded.

"Where am I?"

Well, he is definitely drunk. If he's not, we're in serious trouble here. As that panic-struck thought hits me, I find a way to extricate my torso from his arms.

Nobody's seen us yet, we can still-

"Ladies!"

Chris skips in long hops towards us, like a ballerina. Oh, well.

"Chris! Our almost-birthday guy!"

"Yep, still got to wait until midnight to wish me a happy birthday, ladies."

"So… How was the surprise?"

"Oh, gosh, they got me! They completely left me open-mouthed!"

"I'm sure. Chris, this is your present!" Lea says, handing him the huge – and very heavy – sack containing our gift. The Harry Potter book set in the trunk-like container. I admit it's a bit cheesy, _but_ he admitted loving it some days ago, so we figured.

He squeals, "You didn't have to- OH WHO AM I KIDDING!" and he frolics back to his coffee table, smacking the guys' hands away from the glass surface which looks incredibly fragile, and sets the huge paper bag just beside it.

Mark, Kevin and Cory, only then returning to a world of reality, hurry to welcome us.

"Hey-hey, whad up?"

"Nothing much, Kev. Did we miss anything?"

"We tried to embarass Amber. We told everyone she was on Barney when she was four, and she kept getting questions about it, and she went mad. She was like 'Stop talking about it, just stop!' It was amazing. Barney always winds her up. If you want to tease her, just say 'Barney' and she will get furious."

"Oh my God I so want to try it now," says Lea, who's suddenly excited about this party, and as I watch her walk away, getting engrossed by their new-found pastime, I look at her back and watch the soft sway in her hips as she saunters, the concave curve of her back beneath the thin grey shirt she's wearing, the arch of her shoulder blades as she hugs Amber and the little smug smirk she has plastered on her face, the only thought that she's up to no good making her giggle quietly. And as I watch her – her eyes bright and shrewd, her lips full, the corners of her wide mouth stretching as she snaps her head back in a boisterous laugh, her neck marked by a quite noticeable hickey of my making – there, as I watch her far from across the room, I know this is a moment I'm going to remember.

* * *

><p><em>Later on, May 26th, 2009<em>

As I pull my lips away from my first glass of wine by the living room table, I feel hands sneaking around my stomach and drawing me backwards.

"Are you the girl from Ipanema?" I hear the words being drawled directly in my ear, and I know who this is.

"Di, are you drunk?" I whisper, as I turn around in her arms only to finally admire her droopy-lidded, glazed eyes, her goofy grin and her mussed hair.

She brings a finger to her lips and grins more deeply, breathing out a 'Shhhh', and giggling quietly.

"Oh my God, you're so drunk."

She looks at me for a second, her eyes raking over my face as if she's searching for something in particular.

"What?"

"Your face is very pretty," and with that, she grins lopsidedly at me and bobbles her head lightly to a side, softly tugging at my back, pulling me to the closest sitting space, which luckily happens to be the living room couch.

She snuggles her face in my neck, and I suddenly feel a little bit drunk too.

"Thank you for being my girlfriend Lea. I thank you from the heart of my bottom."

She raises her heard from the crook of my neck for a second, looking slightly confused, then she blurts out: "No. Wait. Strike that, reverse it."

With that, she snuggles back into my neck, and I chuckle because drunk Dianna amuses me to no end.

"You're very welcome, Di, but how many drinks have you had?"

In her effort to remember she puckers her lips against the conjunction between my neck and my collarbone and I feel a shiver running down my spine, then she blows hot air on my skin and lifts a hand up, gesturing a 'three' with her fingers and murmuring "Three glasses of vodka total," then letting her palm drop like a dead weight on my lap, "it's my lucky number." Thank God she didn't keep going with the drinks on to her other lucky number, which is thirteen.

"You're très hot, Leas."

"Leas?"

"It's your name. Leas Sarfati."

"You just added an 's'."

"I did nots."

"You just did it again."

Her hot breath is steady against my neck and it's doing nothing to cool me off.

"By the way, you're very smart and you're really hot and your voice is so pretty so I want to marry you someday."

This phrase totally has me astonished and taken aback.

"Are you sure you would?"

"Sure I am. You are beautiful and smart and I want to kiss you forevs."

Back with the 's's. Right in this second, I want to take a snapshot of this moment, frame it and hang it somewhere on our apartment walls so that she won't forget.

"I'd totes marry you. And I'd porose too."

"Propose?"

"What did I just say?"

"Nothing. But I'm sure I would propose."

"Then I'd say a thousand yeses. In a thousand different languages. I would say yes, ken, si, oui, ja, da…" and then I can feel her face scrunching up, because that's just about all she knows.

She suddenly fists my shirt, and opens up her mouth to kiss the side of my neck. As a lightning flashes right through me, landing down south, she sucks lightly and I'm about to faint. I quickly scan the room nervously, just to check if anyone is looking.

Heather and Naya are coming back from the other side of the house, positively looking like they've either walked right into a wind machine or known each other in the biblical sense. I'm not going to do my 'told you' little victory dance to Chris right now because a beautiful blonde is draped all over me, but he'll sure hear about this.

Jenna, Kevin and Amber are doing these weird little spluttering noises with their mouths just to piss Cory off, and by the tormented look on his face, they're doing it right. Chris is talking amiably to a pretty boy, Mark is smirking suggestively to the girl who's unlucky enough to have sat beside him, and the room is buzzing with a relaxed chitchat.

I turn my attention back to Dianna, her breath warm and steady against me. She's so hot. Temperature-wise hot.

"Di?" I whisper, as I run my palm up and down her arm, trying to elicit any kind of response.

She just opens her mouth again and kisses my neck. Jesus.

"Di? Are you asleep?"

"Mmmh. What time is it?"

"It's 10 p.m. sharp. Wild times, Di."

I feel her nuzzling deeper in the crook of my neck and hissing "You tired me out earlier, my tiny creature."

Oh. So she's not entirely unconscious.

"Are you falling asleep?"

"Yes. Call another time, yafa sheli."

From the little I know through my dad's family, I happen to grasp what she just said.

"You're so not going to remember any of this in the morning."

She chuckles softly in my neck for no discernible reason, and the she starts singing quietly.

"_This place is crowded, don't know about you, I need some sex, some sex with you…"_

Oh my God.

"_Cause you're on my mind, I can feel your sweat, your body's wet…"_

"Shhh, Di!"

"_Let's take a walk, outside, let's take a walk, outside…_"

"Di, we have to stay until Chris opens his gifts."

She raises her head off my shoulder, and keeps on humming.

"_I'm ready to go, go grab your coat…_" and with that, she points determinedly to the coat hangers in the hallway of Chris' apartment. But then her head just falls back into its previous place, and I pat it gently, running my nails through her soft hair.

As her silky locks tickle my pads, a sudden memory engulfs my senses.

It was her birthday, April 30th of 2009, just about a month ago. Ryan had given us a free weekend, and she decided to go back to San Francisco to introduce me to her family.

The air was warm in spite of it being San Francisco, and as we enjoyed the afternoon with her relatives in the backyard of her uncle's house, Dianna's cousin Jackson made his appearance.

"Hello Lea, I am Jackson," he said with an impressive moral gravity. "I am your cousin-in-law. I am very pleased to meet you." For some reason, Jackson took the view that verb contractions were inappropriate at occasions of this magnitude.

"Not yet 'in-law', Jackson," I answered him, kneeling down so we were face to face. I offered my hand to the tinier one Jackson was extending, and we shook empathetically. Then I stooped down to his tiny face, ruffled his blonde thin hair which felt incredibly similar to Dianna's own – velvety and soft. I remember thinking that I was stroking a ray of light, or at least that's how it felt. So I stage-whispered to him: "But you see, you are a very nice and charming boy, so I think I could marry Dianna to have you as my in-law. D'ya think you'd like that? D'ya think she'd like that?"

I can remember Jackson's laughter ringing in my ears like it was yesterday, and Dianna's amused giggle from across the lawn.

Dianna's cousin also is somewhat morbid and easy to frighten. Well, I guess that's quite common among six year olds, but Jackson was almost driven to panic attacks any time an insecurity or a threat to people close to his heart was expressed.

Jackson appeared again in his backyard when we started speaking with his parents about how security in airports had recently gotten stricter.

"Security?" Jackson said, a bit in panic.

We all looked at each other in silent dread, knowing for sure that the process could have been expressly designed to feed Jackson's morbidity. His dad told him they looked for guns.

"Guns?"

"Sometimes bad guys take guns on planes because they want to rob rich people," which wasn't the truth at the least, "But as we're not rich, they won't come near us."

"How will they know we're not rich?"

"Rich people wear stupid watches and smell nice. We haven't got any watches, and we smell bad."

At this, Jackson countered, almost offended. "No! Dianna smells nice. She smells like marshmellows. And rainbows."

And I muffled a laugh in my hand, because he was completely right. If rainbows had a scent, they would smell like Dianna.

As Dianna moves her hand slightly beneath my grey shirt, I think about how perfect that weekend in San Francisco had been. Spring air, orange trees and her slender figure sprawled across her old bed, silhouetted against the morning light. The wriggle of her hips as she pulled on her underwear after a shower, the muscles of her back wrippling as she fastened her bra, the raised arms and the white summer dress which made her look like an angel coming down her figure like a curtain as I stared mesmerized from the bed, being very aware that even though I know every curve and freckle of her body, somehow she never fails to enthrall me.

As I look down to her shiny hair and her pale skin I can hear my phone buzzing in my back pocket. As I stretch to reach it, I gesture to Jenna to get Dianna – aka, be Dianna's personal cushion – for me while I answer because I really don't want to wake her up.

As I rush out of the room, I accept the call and I hear a rather edgy voice which I suddenly recognize. My PR, Shirley. The one who practically got me the audition from Glee.

"Hey Shirley!"

"Hi Lea, how are you?" She inhales so deeply I can hear it over the phone.

"I'm… good. How are you?"

"I'm great. I wanted to talk to you about something, actually."

Her voice has a zippy rhythm, metallic, almost sounding like a typewriter and therefore it doesn't exactly convey much warmth.

"Sure, go on, I'm listening." I walk to the bathroom, lock the door and listen intently.

"How was the FOX party for the premiere a couple of weeks ago?"

On May 11th FOX had organized a Glee premiere event screening at Santa Monica High School to show the Pilot to the medias and spread some excitement for the first episodes.

We had fun, that night. We had smoothies, we spoke to the press about the show, we were interviewed about our characters and we had an after party with just the cast and crew.

"It was so much fun!"

"Glad to hear. I saw you and Dianna Agron are pretty close..."

She just stops speaking, her inflection suggesting that she expects me to finish the sentence for her.

"Yeah. We are… roommates. We live together. We have for a while, but you already know that, don't you? I told you a couple of months ago."

She exhales so powerfully I feel like she just blew right into my ear.

"Yeah. I was actually talking about a different kind of close. Relationship-wise close…"

And she does that same irritating thing again. But I'm not going to be a smart ass to my PR.

"Relationship-wise, we are close. The closest that two people can get."

She exhales again, and the line fizzles for a second.

"Yeah. I figured."

She lets her words drop between us, somewhere in the dark telephonic tunnel, and then I hear her handling papers and pens and her fingers distinctively tapping on a keyboard.

She suddenly sounds like she remembers I'm still on the phone with her, so she says:

"So hey, just a thought about this…"

"About 'this' what?"

"About handling your relationship with Dianna in public."

"Oh. That."

"Yeah. I brainstormed a bit with your agent around that, and we both think you should know what your general standpoint needs to be."

This sentence hides so much subtext I almost feel the need to write it down to underline the important parts and translate them into everyday language.

I knew this day was coming. I've always known.

I'm bracing myself, so I just reply with a half-hearted 'Go on'.

She sounds distracted again, so I clear my throat impatiently and she realizes I'm still here.

"Oh yeah. So, rule number one, no kisses in public-"

"Yeah, well, I thought that was pretty obvious-"

"I'm not finished here. No kisses in public. By public I mean any place but your house. You can obviously do whatever you want behind the safety of your apartment closed door, but once you step out, no lip lock. 'In public' includes the Glee set when there are extras. I am aware the cast and crew know about you two and will never spill a thing about it. But extras have internet, Twitter accounts and general access to social networks."

She stops for a second, and I suddenly realize just how much is entailed in this situation.

"Wait, so do I need to hide my relationship because-"

"Because you are the two leading ladies of a show which tells the story of how your characters fight for the leading male. The show is mainly for families and kids. It would be rather confusing for them to see you two together and then Rachel and Quinn fighting over Finn, wouldn't it?"

"Psh, people are intelligent, there's no need to-"

"Lea, let's get this straight here. That show will attract millions. The Pilot itself was watched by nearly ten million viewers all across America. And judging by the great buzz the Pilot has created and by the fact that the show has already been picked for other 12 episodes, FOX will definitely export the show to other countries. Which means world-wide fame if everything goes right, and it will, because I can feel it. Do you get that? World-wide."

I feel my head spinning for a second, and I sit on the bathroom stool near the sink.

"Which means, there's no way we can control gossip, online talk, and the general response to what the show displays. People are inevitably going to think Lea Michele is Rachel Berry, that Dianna Agron is the bitchy Quinn Fabray and so on. That's what happens with new TV shows, especially with brand new ones. Remember Rachel on Friends? We all thought Jennifer Aniston had her same character in real life, and that she was secretly in love with David Schwimmer, the actor who played Ross. It's inevitable. People are going to believe what television shows them. They are going to hope that you and Cory are secretly together, even if that's just to give some veracity to the show."

I feel sick.

"So… what about Dianna and I?"

"We're going to keep it cute. There's no reason why you two shouldn't hug, or be affectionate towards each other. Female friends do that normally, so you can do whatever, apart from the obvious. In the public eye, you'll be just best friends who live together and bonded over the show because of the little fights you have together on screen."

I feel nauseous and deflated.

"We'll just keep it under wraps for some time and see how that goes, a'right?"

"Yeah… Yeah, fine. Have you talked to Dianna's PR yet?"

"Yep, she has the same view."

"Okay. I'll- I'll just go now, Shirley."

"Sure sweetie. Just… just know that life isn't always romantic, and it isn't always how it's supposed to be. Sometimes it's realistic, and challenging. But I believe you are strong, Lea."

I know Shirley, I've known her for over a year. I know how she must look right now. When Shirley smiles, her smile is a thin-lipped, functional thing that doesn't indicate too much warmth or pleasure, but after all, she clearly doesn't dish out smiles for no reason, thus devaluing their currency. I treasure her sarcasm and pragmatism: it feels bracing, like one of those sponges that are supposed to remove dead skin. She is honest and down-to-business, which I really appreciate on her. But she's not a robot. She cares about me, I know that about her. We are very much alike.

"Thank you."

"No problem, Lea."

"Bye Shirley."

I just sit there for a couple of minutes, finally getting my head around what Shirley said and what she meant.

Then I just stand up, unlock the bathroom door, and walk back to the living room where I left Dianna.

Dianna has fallen asleep on the couch, where she lays horizontally, taking up all the space available. Jenna is sat on a chair just beside her, and is absentmindedly twirling locks of her golden hair around her fingers. I do understand her, Dianna's hair is so silky.

I gesture to Jenna that I can get Dianna now, so she sprints towards Naya and Cory.

I seize Dianna's shoulder to lift her up gently, I sit on the far left end of the couch and let her head rest on my lap, and her arm moves around my waist and clutches to the small of my back. She mumbles something I can't really catch, and I slither my fingers through her soft mussy hair. Then she moves her head so that she is looking up at me with heavy-lidded eyes and a carefree smile. And the she mutters to me, "I just want to say just how happy I am, in this moment right now. The way the buzz in this room fills my head with confusion, that little breeze coming through the window that's making you shiver right now, the way your face looks from down here… It doesn't matter if I'm a little dizzy, or if we have thousands more moments like this, because it's all the same, we have this, and I will remember it forever."

* * *

><p><em>Late morning, May 27th, 2009<em>

I stretch my back until I hear it crack, and sit up on my bed, slightly confused and light-headed. I don't remember much of last night, but a general outline of what happened soon materializes in my mind. I look around me, realizing that Lea is not in bed, and I catch sight of what appears and reveals to be a note on my nightstand.

I move closer, gingerly extending my sore arm to the small white paper resting on the wooden surface with Lea's whimsical writing all over it.

_Hello sleepy face! Goodmorning._

_I just wanted to tell you that I'm cooking for you at the moment, so sit still and I will bring in a hangover-friendly breakfast in no time!_

_On top of that, yesterday night at some point during your drunky daze you kind of said you want to marry me someday because I am 'very smart' and 'really hot' and my voice is' so pretty' so and you want to kiss me 'forevs' (your exact words!). Don't worry, I don't expect you to stand by what you said, also because you told me you would 'porose', which is totally what I'd do, if that's ever the case. _

_- Snowflake xx_

* * *

><p><strong>What Dianna says to Lea, 'Yafa sheli', is the transliteration of the Hebrew way of saying 'My beautiful.' I thought it added a nice touch and some veracity to Dianna, unconsciously quoting Hebrew from what she remembered from her childhood years.<strong>

**The song that Dianna starts singing when they're on the couch is "Let's Take a Walk" by Raphael Saadiq. **


	17. Places to visit

**Author's Note: I remind to all readers that this is simply a story, I do not own Dianna or Lea or any of the characters mentioned unless I state so.**

**I remind to all readers that the lines mean that the point of view is switching from Dianna's to Lea's, and viceversa.**

**Thank you for reading, and I apologize for the wait but it's been a hectic couple of weeks! I will update quickly right after this chapter.**

**Thanks to tumblr user faberrytheory aka science for helping me out a bit with this chapter ;)**

**Chapter 17 – ****Places To Visit**

_Morning, August 14th, 2009_

Packing, packing, packing.

There's nothing like the freedom of traveling, of boxing up just what you need for a week or so, and leave home. True travelers wander just to wander and that's it: delicate hearts, like balloons, moved and carried by destiny.

I've always been consumed by wanderlust. It haunted me when I was younger and lived in a country house in Texas, or when I was trapped in Hyatt hotels between Savannah and San Francisco. I found comfort and a safe escape in the books I read: my life was brought to undiscovered lands, and it got richer, just from words printed on a page. I always wondered, If mind traveling can lead to so much fun and discovery, what does actual traveling hold for me?

But I was happy, just as a growing child can be. I just wished I could find out a bit more about the world that was kept out of sight from me, behind a closed door and out of my reach. There was so much I wasn't experiencing, and I knew that fairly well.

I remember the distinctive feeling of freedom of my first apartment here in L.A. It cheered me up every time I felt my Koreatown apartment keys jangling in my bag. Even though I didn't have any money and it felt so claustrophobic, both because it was a one-bedroom and because I knew no one in the city at the time, that apartment was _my_ place, and it was my first, and there were my books and my clothes and my pictures and my notebooks and my pencils and my sketches of dresses and my dreams, and that was all I truly needed. Even if it was sad, and sketchy, and pretty dingy, I _owned_ that place.

But then, my yearning to leave reached an all-time high when I once returned from a dance class to be greeted by a helicopter above my apartment block and a SWAT team at the apartment block entrance because somebody's houseguest had gone off their meds and was shouting something along the lines of 'He's going to kill me, he's going to kill me!'.

The desire to finally discover what's been kept from me is just as strong now I'm older, and with more possibilities, and with a stable income. I want to see things, experience, taste new food and just be incredibly close to the heart of it all.

So I can say I'm very lucky in this moment. FOX has sent us on tour around the States, and I couldn't ask for anything more.

Right now, I'm packing to leave for Boston with Lea to have a weekend by ourselves before the other kids arrive on Sunday.

Lea is stacking her clothes in neat piles, arranged by color and categories, and she hums Elton John to me from time to time, when she passes by to retrieve a pair of shoes, or some stockings.

She smiles into my ear as she sings "_Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band, pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music… lady!_" and she just laughs, her mouth wide open, her giggle boisterous and rowdy. And just like everytime she laughs so freely, I feel something inside of me flip over.

"_Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand, and now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand," _she swats my back playfully, and sits on our bed. Sheila then climbs up our sheets and lands with a soft 'poof' on top of the mattress. That little beast. Sheila and Claude are our cats: Lea found them on set, just out of sheer luck. She couldn't handle the sight and decided we should take them home and foster them. So Sheila and Claude have lived with us for a while. They are very similar to one another: they are both black, with some lighter fur circling their eyes and covering the top of their noses. Sheila is the rascal, though: she is the one with a cutthroat pirate expression and bright eyes that shine of dark omens. Claude, on the other hand, has this ever-confused look about her, and she's fairly gullible. Unfortunately, poor little Claude got lost God knows where a couple of weeks ago, and we couldn't find her, no matter how hard we looked. She must've been attracted to a pretty bird flying by the window and she sneaked out to rejoin with wild nature at last. Well, wild nature. Maybe pigeons, a couple of dogs, a random dove and some ducks. We're still in L.A. after all.

Sheila studies us with an intense look – well, as intense as a cat's expression can get, which is still pretty intense – and I can almost see it in her eyes that she's judging us. "You're going to leave me at Telly's for four days like I'm some ordinary slob, eh," well, Sheila baby, get over yourself.

Lea grabs the beast and blows a raspberry to her belly, and I start to sneeze. That little rascal can smell my allergy, I just know it.

Lea mutters the next few lines of the song in a confused gibberish into Sheila's belly because she can't remember the lyrics, but then she suddenly recalls the words so she lets the beast plop onto the floor, takes me by the hand, swoops me in her arms and lets us both drop on our bed, laughing as she sings.

"_But oh how it feels so real, lying here with no one near, only you, and you can hear me when I saw softly, slowly,"_ she hushes her voice down to a whisper she blows in my hair, "_Hold me closer tiny dancer, count the headlights on the highway, lay me down in sheets of linen, you had a busy day today_," holding me tightly with her tiny arms and tiny hands and tiny body.

I sneeze again, and she laughs, and something inside of me flips over again.

She makes me smile. It's simple, but it's really something.

* * *

><p><em>Afternoon, August 14th, 2009<em>

We are now on a plane, heading to Bean Town. Nothing could feel better, or more carefree right now than going on a romantic weekend getaway to Boston with Dianna.

She is looking out of the window right in this moment. When we get on a plane, she always _has_ to get the window seat because she _needs_ to look out, and to watch clouds, and how light filters through them, and how the plane wing cuts the air, and all of those things. She truly enjoys to stare at little pretty details everyday life offers us, and I just fall for her all over again whenever I see her gazing into the distance with that transfixed look in her eyes.

She's listening to music on her iPod with headphones that look way too big for her head. A small smile graces her features for a second as she stares into the distance, and something comes to my mind.

"Di?" Her music is not too loud, and it's probably Bon Iver so she can hear my voice, but apparently she's deep in thought, so I tap her forearm lightly with he pads of my fingers.

She whips her head around like she heard a loud crash, and that sudden movement causes one side of the giant headphones to fall over her eye, and the other to get stuck around her ear.

I laugh a little, and she grins like a dork, fumbling with the band to free herself from that headphones confusion.

When she finally gets hold of the equipment and shoves it in her bag together with her iPod, she turns to me grinning, "What were you about to say before the headphones attacked me?"

"I was thinking about last Valentine's Day, do you remember it?"

Her eyes suddenly twinkle with excitement, "Of course I remember it, how could I not?"

Last Valentine's Day occurred on a Saturday, and I had the most wonderful idea about the perfect date for Dianna. I packed a pic-nic bag with some wine, grabbed a couple of deck chairs, took along some cushions and a blanked, and checked the screening times before loading the trunk of my car with said items. She was curious to know where we were going, and when she saw the beach chairs and the wine she said:

"Oh, I walked right into it, haven't I?"

I was confused, but her eyes had a teasing flicker in them.

"You walked right into what?"

"Oh, you know, the old seducing skinny-dip routine. Get a girl drunk, get her naked before midnight and look for the nearest large body of water-"

And I laughed, because she was acting prudish and she had this strange blush adorning her cheeks and she looked like a teenage girl telling her boyfriend she's ready for the big step of bidding farewell to her innocence.

"Di, as much as I find that tempting, we're going to a nice place – well, I don't find it particularly appealing but I know you will."

And so I drove to Hollywood Forever Cemetery, which, if you don't know, is the final resting place to most Hollywood's founders and stars. It's in the outskirts of West Hollywood, just by Santa Monica Boulevard. I would suggest you take a short walk there, if you ever find yourself wandering about the neighborhood. It has some fascinating landmarks.

If you know about Hollywood Forever Cemetery, you'll probably also know that they screen classical movies throughout summer, and sometimes on Valentine's Day, when it's hot enough. Well, we were lucky. Because they were definitely screening a movie, and that movie was _Stage Door_, with Ginger Rogers, Katharine Hepburn and Lucille Ball. _Ça va sans dire_, she loved it. Gosh, she even rubbed her French words off on me. After the movie, she drank some wine, we looked around at the graves, and then I drove back home only to be assaulted by a very woozy and affectionate Dianna.

You see, that's the problem. I always end up talking and rambling on and on about every little moment, and I know you don't want to hear about every single instant. You don't want to know about what time we wake up in the morning or what we like in our coffee, or any of that stuff. All I'm trying to say is, it is all really special. This. Us. Every day. And I can remember just about every second of it. I can remember the constellation we could see from the Hollywood Forever Cemetery Lawn (Cassiopeia, the W-shaped one) last Valentine's Day, I can remember the smell of oranges back in that April day we were in San Francisco for her birthday, I can remember what Dianna wore to watch the Glee Pilot at our apartment with the other kids, I can remember how her body felt cool against mine last night, and how her necklace, the only real item either of us was wearing, kept dropping on my chest with its icy weight, and I can remember how Dianna's right foot has a spasm whenever she's falling from light doze to profound sleep.

"Earth calls Lea. Where did you go just now?"

Oh, just down Memory Lane.

"Where did you go? Was that a nice place?"

"One of my favorite places to visit."

* * *

><p><em>August 16th, 2009<em>

I've dreamed my way through Boston for the last couple of days. I've dreamed my way through life, really. It was all just waiting. I remember waiting for a taxi to get us from our apartment to LAX, then waiting to check-in at the airport, then waiting in line for the security check, then waiting at the gate, then waiting for the plane to take off, then actually waiting for the flight to be over, then waiting for the plane to land, then waiting for our luggage at the baggage carousel, then waiting for a taxi that would get us from Boston Logan to our hotel on Avery Street, then waiting on the taxi, then waiting in line to check-in our hotel, then waiting for the lift to get to ground floor, then waiting inside the lift to get to floor 8, then waiting for the key card to properly work, then finally dropping our bags onto our room's floor, and collapsing on the bed. So that night, after all that waiting, it was like neither of us had been able to breathe from when we walked out of our apartment back in L.A. right to that moment on the low queen-sized hotel room bed, and so we took deep lungfuls of each other, and we said silly words to each other, and we generally acted like we were some kind of star-cross'd lovers and the whole world was against us.

Well, if I think about it, and if I tip the balance of this conversation down onto 'dramatic', that's exactly what we are, star-cross'd lovers. We had to wait from when we walked out of our apartment to when our hotel room's door was closed to kiss, or to say silly things or to lean intimately into each other until our foreheads touch, and we couldn't breathe for those nine hours.

We cannot come out. I mean, we _can_ come out as in walk out and wander about, but we can't announce to the world- Oh, for God's sake, you know what I mean.

The big 'how to handle this in public' question had been on my mind for a while, right after Lea moved in. The subject sat there in the middle of the apartment, and we kept walking into it. It was there everytime we went out to dinner, it was there every time we held hands on set. It sometimes keeps Lea awake at night, and she might not know that I know, but I do.

Of course, I'd like to hold hands with her, and kiss her and tell the world she's my girlfriend because I like being honest with myself and others, but I do believe that the important thing is, the people that matter in our life know about us. That's the important thing.

And, if I have to be honest, I don't want any of us to jeopardise our careers because of the gossips that could be surrounding both of us if we displayed ostentatiously our relationship. Andrea, my PR, was fairly reasonable about it, and Shirley, Lea's PR, was too. We all had a talk with Ryan Murphy, and he obviously agreed the romance between his two female leads who on the show were both very straight shouldn't be flaunted.

Besides, I don't like intrusions in my private life. I never did. Ever since I was in high school, I hated the gossips, the hearsay, the whispers across the hallways: those broke my heart, and I decided long ago that I would stay out of it. I just wish for my life to be just mine, and no one else's.

So yes, I like keeping my private life separated from my job. People who know too much about your personal life start not being able to look at you the same way, let alone professionally, and they end up caring too much about who you're dating rather than valuing who you are as a person, or your talent, or the lack thereof. I really don't want that to happen to me. I value my career, just as much as I value my private life.

So it really isn't that hard. Whenever we step out of our apartment, or of our trailers, our hands drift away from each other, the kisses become longing glances, and silly nicknames sound much more like 'Lea' and 'Dianna'.

It works out nicely, also because Jenna always helps whenever she sees us too close at an event, or on set, and she comes bargining in our conversation. Jenna is our safety anchor, she is the needle that pops our lovey bubble and brings us back to a world of reality.

And it's all fun to act like we are star-cross'd lovers who can't reveal their true feelings to the outer world because they would just not be understood. Especially when we are away from home, and away from our work place, and away from any of our worries, and we start to feel like we can live in our own little fantasy world, after all. And it can be carefree, and spontaneous, and easy. Like it is where we are now, in Boston, in a quaint old cemetery.

I'm taking a picture of a pictoresque tombstone, and Lea just doesn't seem to understand.

"So we have flown from L.A. to Boston to look at graves."

It looks like the simple truth of it just struck her.

"This one has a pine tree eerily growing out of it!"

"Hmmm."

"And look at this girl, she was born in the 19th century! Have a look!"

"It's… sinister. And spooky."

"How can you be not interested? It's beautiful."

"I'm too young to be grave watching. It'll be classical music next."

"Too _cool_ to enjoy a trip to a cemetery-"

"Then it'll be gardening, then you'll be buying jeans at Wal Mart, you'll want to move to the country, and the next thing we know we'll be calling each other 'darling'. I've seen that happen with people, it's a slippery slope."

"Don't you like this?"

The joke has stopped, and I am genuinely concerned she's not having a good time, because occasionally, when I'm around people I know too much, I am inclined to forget that not everyone enjoys my same dark interests. I'm afraid one day I will just show up at work all dressed up like a skeleton on Día De Los Muertos and they just won't understand me, and I'll end up muttering embarassedly at them, "What? You don't like this?"

I don't even know why, but sometimes I get so excited at some things that I tend to fall under the impression that everyone is fond of my same quirky passions.

Her edgy expression falls into a quiet smile, looking at me with such intensity I can picture Paris and Champs-Élysées at midnight around us, rather than burial mounds. "I was kidding, _darling_. I like this because you do, and I love watching you get all spirited about this bizarre kind of things," and she simply stoops down to look at the tombstone I was pointing just about a minute ago, then glances around her, suddenly noticing something that has her wide-eyed. "I like that that one has snow globes on it," and just like that, I know she understands. She understands because she is just as passionate about other things, and she knows very well no one should knock people with passions. We are always going to be vulnerable to the excesses of obsessives, because, yes, we share a tiny strand of the same DNA.

* * *

><p><em>3 am, August 16th, 2009<em>

Oh gosh. Do you know when you fall into that very uncomfortable state of mind where you're right between sleeping and waking? Well, I'm right in it now. And I hate it. I always end up being not so clear-minded, and it makes my thoughts dramatic and depressing. I turn over in our low queen-sized bed in our hotel room on Avery Street in Boston, still half-asleep, and I think very distinctly of two things.

The first is a photograph of Dianna at seven years old in a white tutu with puff short sleeves, posing as a proper ballerina with her hands stiff and joined in front of her in first position, her feet in fourth position clad in ballet shoes, her eyes focused to the camera capturing the moment, her smile thin-lipped and bashful.

The second is Dianna's mom. Her brown hair, her bangs falling just above her eyebrows, her smile gentle, her eyes every so often narrowing while speaking about her daughter, with an air of evaluating something, like a jeweler. This memory comes right from those days in San Francisco last April, when we stayed at her family's old house. Dianna had gone upstairs to get a shower, and Mary had started talking about her, with a tone bearing high regard to the young woman she raised.

"I'm glad she chose a girl as sweet as you are as her partner. You two look happy with each other," I remember her saying, while sitting at the dinner table with me.

"We are," I remember telling her in earnest, and looking at that picture of a baby Dianna in a tutu, I asked her, "Was Dianna any different when she was younger?"

She smiled and snorted, and that mix of reactions reminded me a lot of Dianna herself.

"Oh, Dianna was always smart, and strong-minded. And I unfortunately can't take credit for that," she tapped the wooden table lightly.

"You know, I bet she already told you this, but when she was fifteen she had a particularly tough year."

I nodded in confirmation, unsure of where that conversation was going.

"When Ronald and I finally decided to get a divorce after all that arguing and fighting, we planned to tell Dianna and Jason, so we sat in our den, and asked them to join us. Dianna was the first to walk into the room, and you know what she did when she saw us sitting there expectantly?"

She tittered, as I shook my head, and she kept going.

"She watched us, narrowing her eyes, and then she ran out of the room, telling Jason to stay right where he was. It had taken her three seconds to sense the danger in that room: the silence, our obvious nervousness, our stiff way of perching on the far ends of the couch, away from each other, the fact that we never even used the den, it all looked strange. We found her in her room, laid on the bed flat on her back, ankles crossed. She was reading," Mary said, half-smirking, her eyebrow raised in a so familiar way. I chuckled a little.

"So I walked in her room asking her to come back downstairs, telling her it'd have been easier for the four of us to talk, and she said she knew what we wanted to talk about, 'You are having problems, so you're going to break up and ask for a divorce, but that doesn't mean that you don't love us, we will have to decide if we want to live with you or Dad and we have to know you won't take it personally because we obviously love you both equally, blah blah blah,' and she said that she already knew, so she didn't need to go back downstairs and talk about it," she stared at her hands, joined on the table. She chuckled bitterly.

"Fifteen years old and already she could parody the language of marital failure. She said she learned it from kids at her school and from books. Of course." She snorted.

I was starting to miss the point of why she was telling me that right then, so I just waited for her to continue.

"What I'm trying to say is, she would rather just not talk about it and get it over with it already. She doesn't like confrontations, she's had too many of those in the past, both with her father and with her relatives on both sides of the family. It would sound like Dianna usually walks away from arguments or problems, but that's not true. She deals with issues in her own, complicated and completely personal way, which includes being honest with herself and coming to terms with problems in her own head before exteriorizing any of it."

She leaned towards me slightly, eyes adjusting to the proximity: "She is honest in a way that doesn't have to be blunt or outward: she likes for things to be truthful and clear between her and the people she cares for. Despite the fact that she'd maybe feel better if she could just yell it all from a mountain top, she tends to keep it inside, and think over and chew on it."

So, as I'm turning over in our low queen-sized bed, I think about the way we have to act in public, and how it's stressing me out. Of course, we cannot by any means put our careers at risk: we've just started, this is our big break. Coming out, accidentally or not, would just threaten what we've been working for, all these years. And we do value our careers.

But it's terrifying, the fear of getting caught. The fear that, maybe, one day I will just forget that we are in public and lean into her intimately and telling her 'I love you', or I might kiss her and realize there are other people there. Or maybe people will find an old picture of when we weren't careful with this.

This anxiety sometimes keeps me awake at night, and it all gets worse, at night. Thoughts drift towards pessimism and hopelessness and negativity, the brain feels heavy and overloaded, life looks so far away, the lights of day are long gone.

As I remember Mary's words about Dianna's way of being honest, I turn over to look at the blonde lionness that lies just beside me. A sleeping mythological creature. You might think she radiates light even when she sleeps, and I'm relieved she doesn't: she looks peaceful, somehow ordinary in her quiet, even breathing.

_She is honest in a way that doesn't have to be blunt or outward: she likes for things to be truthful and clear between her and the people she cares for. Despite the fact that she'd maybe feel better if she could just yell it all from a mountain top, she tends to keep it inside, and think over and chew on it._

The words resonate in my head in a dull tone, and I can't help but wonder how she truly feels about this. Sure, we've talked about it, but not thoroughly. And the subject is always there, right when we hear a doorknob turning, or when we open a door, or when we look at each other at events and realize we can't do anything else at all.

So, at 3 in the morning, as the flash of headlights and of streetlights filters through the curtains to end up painted on the wall opposite to the window, I decide after a few arguments with myself to whisper:

"Dianna."

I am greeted by a grunt, and a light shuffle of feet.

"Di."

It's a sleepy mumble I can't decipher this time, so I decide against talking, and I whisper:

"_A jaw dropper, looks good when she walks, is the subject of their talk, she would be hard to chase but good to catch, and she could change the world with her hands behind her back, oh_"

I see a small smile growing on her lips, so I keep going:

"_Daydreamer, with eyes that make you melt, she lends her coat for shelter_…"

This time, my words get muffled by a wet kiss Dianna plants on my lips.

"What time is it?"

Her croaky voice echoes in the large room.

"It's 3 am."

"Why were you singing to me at 3 am? Not that I find it annoying, but it _is_ 3 am after all-"

"I… I wanted to wake you up."

"Oh. Because…"

"Because I was awake, and things clouded up my mind and I needed to talk to you."

"Oh. Things like what?"

"…You know what."

"Oh. So it's that again-"

"Well… I woke up and started thinking about it."

"Okay…"

"How do you feel about hiding this? Us, I mean?"

"Lea, we've already talked about this…"

"Not thoroughly, we always end up joking about the world being against us and I never know how you really feel about this."

Dianna sighs heavily and rolls on her back.

"I'm okay with this, this is our big break, we can't jeopardize our careers, they've only just started…"

"Okay, okay, but put work to a side for now. That's the reason why we can't come out and we both know we just can't. But how do you feel about having to wait for when we get home or behind a closed door to truly be ourselves?"

"Tell me how _you_ feel about that."

"Okay. I feel… terrible. Whenever I can't act on what I feel. Whenever I know I will never be able to take you as my date to events to show proudly to the world that you're my girlfriend and that I love you. I like to be blunt and honest, and this isn't easy. Not one bit."

Dianna sighs, and I can feel her shuffle under the light linen sheets. I keep going.

"So how do you feel when we walk out of our apartment and we have to look like we're not together? How does lying feel?"

I know I'm being pushy, but I really want to have a piece of her mind on this.

The room is pitch-black, but when Dianna's eyes move franctically to me, then to the ceiling, then back to me, I see their yellow shade gleaming in the dark.

"I don't like it. I don't like lying."

"Good. Neither do I."

"I- It feels difficult. At times. Whenever I think about the fact that we could never be each other's dates at events. Or whenever we realize there's someone else in the room and we have that jolt reaction where our hands part like they're burning. I hate that feeling."

Ouch, that hurt. I sigh heavily, and a cold hand is suddenly on mine.

"But the thing is, our hands… They always drift back together. We always have our moments of carefreeness and freedom and relief. And that's something no one can take away from us. And that way we know. We know we're supposed to be together. Even though we have to tell white lies here and there, _we_ know where the truth stands, and the people we care about do too. And that's what's important, really."

She has a way of explaining things… She could convince me of anything. She could tell me the sky was really painted on the huge arched roof of earth, and I'd believe her.

"So whatever it is you're worrying about, don't. Because what we have here and now is what is really important."

"Okay."

I shrug a little against my pillow, and she shuffles closer to me. Her breath is even and warm against my neck, and it's doing nothing for me to fall asleep again.

"So please, just sleep already. We have a meet and greet tomorrow at the mall, and I don't want you to nod off against Cory's steely chest."

I giggle and say:

"I won't. You'll be the one nodding off."

"I won't."

"Oh, trust me, you will."

I sit up and move to her side, letting my hand trail from the inside of her thigh up to her hip.

She chuckles breathily and whispers: "Oh, is that so?"

"Yeah."

She moans softly as my hand move between the soft cotton of her shorts and her skin, and right in this moment I know, there is nothing more raw, or loving than sharing not only sheets together, but skin. The coolness of her stomach, the way our bodies tangle together and our heartbeats and breathing become one, like an orchestrated melody. I don't see where she begins and I end, and that's the wonder of it. We simply are one. And that's really what's important.

* * *

><p><strong>The songs mentioned here are "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John, "The Way We Were" by Barbra Streisand, and "Daydreamer" by Adele, for which I take no credit obviously.<strong>


	18. A rocky route

**I remind to all readers that I do not own Dianna or Lea or any other character unless stated so.**

**Chapter 18 – A rocky route**

_December 13th, 2009_

I'm perched up on a stool, at the counter of her kitchen. It's _her_ kitchen now, _her _apartment, since we both decided it would be easier to deal with the rumors if we didn't live together. 'Roommates' was beginning to sound like an understatement to the media and, well, frankly it was. Not to mention my little allergy problem with our cat Sheila, and the fact that we had an income, so it wasn't strictly necessary for us to live together. So I moved out in September 2009 and found my own apartment, which is still quite close to hers, where we are right now.

The smell of orange juice captures my senses while she pours some in a cup, and it brings me back to one particular day. I remember that day very clearly. It was my birthday, April 30th of 2009.

Ryan had given us some days off before the big premiere of the Glee Pilot, so we had decided to spend a couple of days in San Francisco to finally introduce her to my family.

I had skyped with my mom to let her know.

Her scrunched up face appeared on my computer screen, with my brother waving beside her.

"Jay-Jay!" I squealed, so grateful for his handsome smile gracing my eyes again.

"Dee!"

"Where is Dianna?" My mom's brows furrowed in confusion, and then my brother pointed to the left corner of her screen.

"My little lamb!"

"Hello, mother!" I smiled back to her.

"Can you hear me? Jason, can she hear me? CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

"Mom, it's fine, I can hear you. It's not like over the phone, you can't have bad reception on here."

And she would nod and we would talk about Lea, who was gamboling about our apartment parading her dance moves like a deranged giraffe, and I would laugh and look at her. Because well, _look at her_.

And then, my mom knew. She knew everything she needed to know, and everything I had been trying to tell her since November of 2008.

"How- how-"

"Dear, I'm your mom. Do you think I don't notice these things? You've had a peculiar smile on your face since she moved in with you. You look at her with the same abandon with which you watch old movies or children's books. And everytime we speak, a little Lea falls out of your mouth. You can't help but talk about her. It's either a bad stalker phase, or you're in love. And Gosh, I do hope it's the latter."

And she didn't even flinch. She didn't avert her eyes, not for a single moment, because she knew that I had fallen in love, and you can't really help it when that happens, now, can you?

"You know, I found that people who make us happy are never the people we expect. So when you find someone, you've got to cherish it."

And so on April 30th, at my uncle's house in the outskirts of San Francisco, spring air moved swiftly around and underneath the tablecloth neatly laid on the backyard wooden table, overcrowded with empty dishes and used cutlery, and made the empty glasses on it dance and sway, carried by the breath of the wind just below them.

Children's laughter filled the air, and everything felt like it was supposed to. I was in love, I was back home with my parents and my relatives and my Lea.

"Hello Lea, I am Jackson," I could hear my cousin saying with an impressive moral gravity. "I am your cousin-in-law. I am very pleased to meet you." For some reason, Jackson took the view that verb contractions were inappropriate at occasions of this magnitude.

"Not yet 'in-law', Jackson," I could see Lea answering to him, kneeling down so they were face to face. She offered her tiny hand to the even tinier one Jackson was extending, and they shook empathetically. Then Lea would stoop down to his tiny face, ruffle his blonde thin hair and stage-whisper to him: "But you see, you are a very nice and charming boy, so I think I could marry Dianna one day, just to have you as my in-law. Y'know, just for that. D'ya think you'd like that? D'ya think she'd like that?"

I can remember Jackson's laughter ringing in my ears like it was yesterday.

The smell of orange trees and the feeling of warm grass underneath my body as we lay on the house lawn at my uncle's house outside San Francisco suddenly overwhelms my senses, and I can still see Lea leaning down beside me, and whispering to my ear, "You little charmer, you're so beautiful the sun is kissing you. But only I can get that priviledge." And so she would kiss me, chastely and quickly because my relatives were just a few yards away from us.

And we looked up into the clear blue sky, and we were as happy as anybody who is in love in the springtime can be.

Memories of my mom's smile when she greeted Lea in her home still make me beam fondly.

Memories of my brother trying to play football in our backyard with her and Jackson hit me with sudden waves of affection.

Memories of my dad beaming at us and yelling 'My girl! Where is my girl? And what about this ravishing Broadway extraordinaire?" from his porch when we had walked to his house make my heart hurt a little. He knew, as well, before I even had to tell him.

Memories of us together, by that lawn at my uncle's house for a family reunion, make me feel grateful for what we had. Because it was there, for everyone to see.

One day, you think you're in love and that your love is returned, and the next day, it's simply not there assisting you, guiding you by the hand, paving your path throughout the day.

You might say, 'Hey, but you sure saw it coming.' Well, I sort of did, but I never think this would actually happen. You know that gut feeling you get when someone is not answering your calls and you think that maybe they had a car crash or maybe they got kidnapped, but then you just think it's just nonsensical and irrational thought, and you actually don't expect for these things to happen? It was a bit like this, with Lea, for the last month.

Sure, we had our arguments, and our big fights, but I never thought we would get to this point. You know, sometimes you can see car crashes from a long way off, if the road is straight and both vehicles are heading towards each other in the same lane.

The bad thing is, our vehicles weren't heading towards each other. Our vehicles had stood side by side, and drove through traffic and on bumpy roads and trampled over 'no trespassing here' signs. It was an uneven, sometimes rocky and yes, a bone-shaking route. But we'd take it, together, because it was worth it. It was worth it everyday we woke up to each other's morning breath and when we refused to kiss until we brushed our teeth. And it was worth it when I saw her gamboling around our apartment in skimpy clothes, parading her allergy to bras and pants like it was some kind of religion. It was worth it when we had nights out with friends, and we would crash onto our bed, exhausted, but not too exhausted to make love to each other.

Our vehicles were perfectly fine, until she decided the bumps on the road were too many and they were making her head dizzy and she felt tired and she needed a break. One would think, go to a spa, rent a motel room along the way and rest for the night. But no. I could feel her vehicle slowly taking off and heading to the even, perfectly flat, paved highway.

I've felt her slowly drifting away from me in the last month, and the almost rhythmical arguments kept on prizing her fingers off the rope they were clinging to, one at a time.

So I'm sitting on this stool, facing a wreck of a woman telling me that she needs to breathe.

"I'm going mental with pressure! I feel like someday, I'll just not be careful enough with my words or with my actions, and I'll accidentally out ourselves, flinging all of our dreams out of the window."

"You won't. It's working so far-"

"God, it's not! When was it last time we had to have that horrible talk with Ryan and our reps and FOX execs? When, tell me!"

I wince a little when I hear her tone of voice. She sounds harsh, but mostly she sounds exhausted.

"Last week."

"And before that, it was two days earlier, and I even had a talk yesterday in my trailer with Ryan. I can't go on like this."

My heart sinks deep in my stomach.

"So you're giving up."

"God, Di, this is not giving up!"

She sighs, and she turns to face the sink and the fridge. We used to hang my notes there. The ones I left on my side of her bed when I stayed the night and had to rush to an early shooting or an interview. The ones I left on the bathroom mirror at night before leaving.

_You lookin' fine, lady!_

_- Di x_

Memories flood my mind as she raises her hand to her forehead, a tremolous sigh making its way through her throat. Memories of the notes she used to leave in my trailer when we were at work, the ones she would hide in the book I'd taken with me for the day. I would find a neatly folded piece of paper in my book when I lay down on the couch of my trailer to relax and read, and they would be scribbled with Lea's messy handwriting.

_You're probably wearing specs to read this. Well, keep 'em on, you look gorgeous!_

_Snowflake x_

Where has she gone? Where has my snowflake gone?

Is it really possible simply to jump from the belly of a relationship into the clear blue sky? Is it allowed? Where was my protective fence, my safety net? They make it hard for you to jump off bridges, or to smoke, or to own a gun, or to become a gynaecologist. So how come they let you walk out on a stable, functioning, beautiful relationship? They shouldn't.

As she raises her eyes to lock with mine, I see a shiver running down her spine. She's wearing a baggie sweater and yoga pants. She looks stupidly beautiful, as always.

She sighs one more time, and then she says to me, "Don't you find it hard not to grab my hand when we're at events together? Don't you-"

"Of course I do, but that doesn't mean-"

"Please, Di, please let me explain. Please let me."

"Okay. Go on."

Go on. Wreck me.

"Do you remember when we were in New York, at Soundview Park, lying on the grass? Or at your uncle's house in San Francisco? Or in Boston, in that spooky cemetery? Do you remember that?"

"How could I not remember that?"

"Do you remember feeling carefree, so uneffected by what was going on around us, so unchained and free and happy?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember the last time you've felt that way?"

"Lea, I feel that way everyday I look at you and I realize that I still love you and that you still love me back."

"But does it feel the same? I mean, of course, behind closed doors, and inside trailers and when people aren't around, I feel that way too then, because that's when I can love you freely. Behind closed doors. Inside a closet. God, I _hate_ that word!"

"But- but…"

Her voice is small, like the one of a scared child as she says, "Closets are tiny, and they feel claustrophobic. Exactly like I feel right now."

"How dare you say to me-"

"I'm not saying it's because of you! I feel claustrophobic because I can't even walk with you hand in hand. You know what Ryan said to me yesterday?"

"What?"

"He said the people on FOX are separating us for interviews from now on."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"It does. He said we look at each other during interviews. Do you get that? He said we _look_ at each other. Look. And that's enough to feed rumors. How can I not look at you if I'm in a relationship with you? It's impossible!"

"But you are in love with me!"

"I- I am. But sometimes love isn't enough."

She looks down at her hands.

"Well, breaking up with me won't solve anything. You will still be looking at me during interviews, and I'll still be itching to touch you at events!"

"No, I won't. And you wouldn't take the liberty to touch me if I broke up with you."

"That- that…"

That's true.

"So you're in love with me, but you're breaking up with me because we can't come out?"

"Not because we can't come out, but because I can't bare standing beside you without touching you."

"Do you realize you're not making sense?"

"It makes a lot of sense. This pressure is killing me, Dianna! You realize how I hate intrusion and obstacles in my private life, and I can't stand lying and hiding feelings away! You know that, you know me. I'm blunt. I'm honest. If I see you on the red carpet looking beautiful I will hug you, or even kiss you someday. And we can't risk that. You know we can't. We've both worked so hard to get where we are now, I'd go mad if all of our work, all of our efforts went down the sink because I accidentally outed both of us."

"So you're breaking up with me because you can't bare not touching me."

"No. I'm breaking up with you because that way, I can protect both of us."

"You do realize this is fucking ridiculous!"

"Please don't yell at me."

"You're destroying any chance of happiness I ever had, what the fuck should I do?"

I'm so angry my voice is shaky, like it used to be when I was on the verge of an argument with some girl at school who was picking on me. My voice is shaky, and consequently I don't sound angry at all. I sound scared.

She looks at me, stretching her full lips in a sad smile.

"I'm not your one chance. You shine, Di. I've always seen this eery kind of glow around you. You light up a room. You deserve to play in beautiful, quirky movies directed by Woodie Allen or- or Wes Anderson, and to marry a handsome, caring husband you can take as your date anywhere you want and who can show proudly to the world he has you. You deserve someone who can stand tall and proud beside you, not to hide behind a bush. And I can't give you what you deserve."

My heart swells at the mention of hiding behind a bush. My heart swells but my soul rages.

"You are the best thing that could ever happen to me. You are what I deserve, if what I deserve is happiness!"

"And you really want to wade in a relationship that can only be expressed behind doors? What kind of happiness is that?"

"I'm not wading in this relationship, I fucking slammed into it the first time ever I laid my eyes on you! And it wasn't even a choice! My heart led me, it guided me to you! This is my kind of happiness, the greatest that I could ever be able to think about. My happiness is being with you, and I see no other way of pursuing it!"

"We're not happy anymore, Dianna! Every night out feeds off arguments between us, and between us and our agents and our RPs, and every mean word we spit out at each other just… it just feels unbearable. It's exhausting. It makes my heart ache everytime I see some other actress bringing her boy as her date somewhere, standing so tall and proud, and knowing that I can't be that girl for you. I can't stand tall and proud. I have to hide behind doors. And it just feels so wrong. Doesn't it feel wrong to you?"

"It does feel wrong, but it's the only way we can be together!"

"We always have a choice, Dianna."

"No! You're wrong! We don't get a choice in this! It's the only way we can be together."

"That's the point. If that's the only way we can be together, then maybe we shouldn't. Everytime we walk out of a door… It's exhausting. It's wearing me out and draining all that it used to feel like, it's draining it all out of me."

"You- you don't feel the same way anymore?"

* * *

><p>Yes. Yes, I feel it everytime I kiss her. But then I open my eyes, and I realize we are alone in this. It's just Dianna and I. We are alone.<p>

"It just doesn't feel right anymore. Everyday I wake up with the fear of receiving a call from my rep telling me that people saw us while we were kissing at that party, or hugging intimately or telling each other 'I love you'! It's terrifying!"

"Lea, we are being careful and attentive-"

"No we aren't! If we could be, we wouldn't have all of these dreadful conversations with Ryan and all that crew! And we aren't being careful and attentive because we simply can't!"

"What are you talking about, we can- we can get better, more secretive-"

"I can't, Dianna. _I_ can't. I like to be honest, I like to be in the open. When I say I'm single in interviews, it feels awful because I can't claim you. I can't proudly say 'I love her' right out loud. If you have to keep something secret maybe it's because you shouldn't be doing it in the first place. And it all feeds the feeling that what we're doing isn't supposed to last."

"We are supposed to last, what we have is special!"

Really? Are we?

I know I'm not.

"There is a reason couples never last through Hollywood. And we won't break the mold, because I'm not special. I'm ordinary, I want what everyone wants. I want love in the open."

"So you don't want this." She gestures towards the counter, and the orange juice, and the fridge, and the air between us.

"Not anymore. It feels too painful, and it breaks my heart everytime I think about what we can't have."

"It won't feel any better once we are apart. And you know that. It won't. This will wreck both of us."

She sighs for a moment, and I sigh for a moment, and I suddenly feel like crying.

"It's already wrecking us. We've been non-stop fighting for the last few months."

"But… but you're in love with me!"

"I am. But love just isn't enough, sometimes. We're not teenagers, it's not as simple, being with someone. We've got to deal with so much stuff, stuff that at the end of the day just took all that was good about us from our hands. Maybe it's not our time. Maybe our time will come, just not now. Now doesn't feel right."

Then Dianna's voice rumbles out: "I'm so disappointed. I thought we were better than that. I thought you were better than that, of all people."

"Oh, so it becomes a moral failing on my part, now? A character weakness?"

This is not what I wanted to say. I was trying to say something else. I was trying to say that the inability to articulate what one feels in any satisfactory way is one of our ever-lasting tragedies. It wouldn't be much, and it wouldn't be useful, but it would be something that reflects the gravity and the sadness inside of me. Instead, I snapped at her for accusing me. It is as if I'm trying to find a fingerhold on the boulder of my feelings, and merely ended up with grit under my nails. I sound spiteful and unfair, even to myself. What I'm doing is spiteful and unfair, and I know that. I just can't bear with this anymore.

Conversations about setting Dianna and I in different trailers, interviews, events, and even nights out with friends have had the upper hand over our relationship for the last months. They took what was good about us – spontaneity, carefreeness and happiness – and they ripped it off of our hands, leaving us with mere moments together behind a closed door and in the safety of our apartments. That's not happiness.

So I wave my hand before me, trying to erase what I just said, and try for "Please, don't make it harder that it already is, please," instead. It doesn't feel any better. I feel like this conversation had already been written for us, and that that reply was the line I was supposed to say according to the script. It feels like watching a film, and my control over what I say is slipping away from me, like sand through my fingers.

She stands up, grabs her coat from the couch and walks to the counter again.

"Fine. So, say what you want to say, then I'll leave."

Her glare scares me. It's cold, it's bitter. Her eyes are reduced to narrow slits, her lips are pursed, her chin is slightly jutting out. This is the kind of expression she reserves to Quinn Fabray, and the fact that she's using it so naturally to me off-screen… It terrifies me.

"I just- I just don't want to lose our friendship. I-", I stutter, trying to compose myself. She just stands there, waiting for a complete sentence, and she looks incredibly tall, while I feel like I'm shrinking before her to a dwarf-like size, and my voice pitch raises with it.

"I just- I don't think I could bare not talking to you. You are one of my best friends."

"So you're breaking up with me and you're also dictating the rules of how I should act around you?" Her tone is not angry, it's not raging and it's not indignant or cross. It lacks any kind of emotion. It's flat, bare, and her low-pitched voice has been replaced by cold and stiff sounds.

She's not furious because I am, in fact, pleading to remain friends. She is not furious at all. She's not even curious. She's just asking in that icy tone, so that she knows. And that slits my heart open.

"No, I- I'm not demanding anything. I'm just asking you to think about it, to consider the… option."

My words sound wrong, too formal, too unaffectionate. If someone walked into this room right now, he would think we are speaking of business, of work. We are not discussing transactions or negotiations here, we are discussing the end of a relationship.

Her expression trembles, and it reminds me of how the screen of my old TV used to go all fuzzy at times, blurring the image on it all around the edges.

"I'll think about it. Now, if I can just walk home and- and- and-"

And then she breaks down to tears, and walks out of my apartment before I even get to hug her one last time. So I just watch her back descending the stairs of my flat, feeling like I'm breaking up with a part of myself, and I'm now contemplating it as it flies away, fluttering its wings rhythmically, in time with the tremble of Dianna's shoulders.

* * *

><p><em>Later on, December 13th, 2009<em>

I wasn't supposed to cry in front of her. When I was playing the scene out in my head, while she was talking nonsense about being friends, I was planning to stiffly don my coat, maybe spitting the last sentence out, waiting for a reply, then throw a last glance of pure rage to her and walk away.

But my body and my heart weren't cooperating, life wasn't an act and Lea was crashing me to pieces. So I broke down in front of her, and then walked away, with my coat and scarf still in my hand, forgotten. I wept until I reached my apartment door knob, realizing I still wasn't wearing the coat or the scarf. I sneezed and registered the fact that I had just got a cold.

So right now I'm lying on my couch, curled up in a tight ball of blankets and tissues, sneezing and crying and sniffling and just trying to breathe. Amazing how life turns out, huh? Just brilliant.

After what feels like hours, but it's probably just minutes, I feel my phone vibrating in my backpocket. I stir lightly, and reach out to grab it. It's Lea. And it's a text message. I wince a little when I see the nickname, and open it.

**Snowflake – 5:56 p.m.**

**Are you okay? You weren't wearing your coat when you walked out and… I'm just worried. I know that right now you don't want to talk to me, but please just answer this with an 'okay' and I'll be calmer.**

I send back an 'okay' and throw the phone to the wall, which obviously falls apart. Battery to a side, the cover and the front to another.

I just lie there sniffling, not really thinking about anything because if I do think about what I just lost, I might just break down and end up becoming a homeless, jobless alcoholic living in a cardboard box singing at ducks at the closest neighborhood park.

After half an hour, or at least what seems so, my house phone rings. Shit. You can't have a moment of peace in this world, now, can you? I hate technology. I hate the fact that people can reach you at any time and wherever you are.

Well, I actually don't hate that, but right now I just wish I could live in a desert island. Just my blanket and I. You will be my friend, Blanket. The phone is still ringing, I huff and cover my head with my unused couch cushions to muffle the annoying noise, but it keeps shrieking at me, so I finally stand up and walk to the kitchen wall phone, pick it up, and growl a gruff 'hello'.

"Dee?"

It's Chris.

"Hi Chris." I sniffle a little. He's panting. I can hear cars honking, followed by his muffled 'shit'.

"Dee, I'm coming over."

"What? No… No, I'm-"

"Shut up, Dee. I'm coming over. Period."

What does he know about anything?

"How do you-"

"A tiny songbird told me something."

Lea.

"What exactly did she tell you?"

"Everything that there is to tell. I know you really don't want to hear this right now, but she asked me to make sure you were okay since she can't because you'll probably hate the sight of her."

I really don't want to hear this. And anyways, the one who sinks your ships doesn't usually send the salvation army to you, now, does he?

And why am I comparing her to an enemy and our relationship to a war?

Nothing makes sense in my head anymore, and I press two fingers against each eye and attempt to account for this crippling melancholy, but I'm having trouble with rational thought. It feels like someone just took my head and shaken it. Words are turning to mush and I suddenly see no way of getting through this. Don't fall apart, I tell myself, not here, not now. Hold it together. Chris is coming to save me.

"Dee? I'm literally walking to yours right now so if you could just grant me an 'okay' or a silence or a nod or a 'fuck off'… I'd actually appreciate the 'okay'."

"I guess there's no point in stopping you, is there?"

"You're absolutely right. I will call on your entry phone in… 3, 2, 1."

_Bzzzzzzz_.

I hang up and open the street door and my apartment door, waiting for him. I expected a party of one, but instead, a couple of minutes later, I get a full motley crew panting on my landing. Chris, Naya, Heather, Jenna and Amber.

"Couldn't we use the stairs, for once?" Amber asks, wheezing and clutching her chest.

"No! We had to be fast," Chris answers, turning to face me.

"What is this, some kind of pity party?" I ask.

"No. I'd like to call it a girlvention. A girl intervention."

He eyes me with the best heartening look in his baby blues, and he turns around to Naya, Heather, Jenna and Amber. I realize they brought a couple of paper bags along.

Heather eyes Chris suspiciously and asks in an honest voice: "If this is a girlvention then what are you doing here?" Chris sighs, "Again, I'm here because Lea," he pauses for a second, as he can hear me flinch, "called me, and besides, you didn't have the right movies for this evening."

He turns to look back at me, a slightly wishful glint in his eyes, "We brought Nutella, breadsticks, _Amélie_, _The Devil Wears Prada_, and some popcorns."

I realize I still have a blanket draped over my shoulders, and I probably look like someone who just got run over by a train and then left to die. I toss the blanket to the couch and run a hand through my hair and thumb away some tears on my cheeks, just to make sure I don't completely look like a hobo.

"Di, don't you start with your 'I must look like a mess' drivel because I swear, I will drag you by your hair into a fresh shower of honesty talk in front of your mirror."

"Woah, easy there Snix," Chris turns to whisper to her, and I hear distinctingly a 'We're here for a reason.'

At that, her expression falls, and she mutters, "Sorry, I just… I just can't believe it yet."

"Yeah well, that makes two of us," I mutter bitterly, letting them into the living room.

Chris and the others settle on the couch and on the floor, and Heather suddenly claps her hands like this is some sort of slumber birthday party and declares: "Now let's watch a movie and eat ourselves into a stupor!"

And so we do. And I'm suddenly thankful for my friends like I've never been before, ever, in my life.

When we get to the part of _Amélie_ where the tale of her parents is being narrated, we all laugh when Amélie's mom gets killed by a suidicial tourist from Quebec falling on her from the top of the Notre Dame church because the scene is constructed to be slightly comical.

"This is not funny," says Heather, quite confused.

"You're right, it's not funny," says Chris.

"Cool," says Heather. "Because I don't like it when jokes are funny for everybody else."

The movie is inevitably cut in by Heather's comments almost rhythmically, and Chris is always the one to reply.

"Wait, where is she going?"

"Let's find out together, shall we?"

"This movie is so sad!"

"Just wait for it to develop, Christ."

"I always count how many couples are having an orgasm right in that moment too!"

That is just followed by Naya's comically widened eyes, and Chris' reply: "Of course."

"French sounds sexy."

"I've always found Italian sexy," I say, without even thinking. I can almost feel them eyeing each other with miserable looks, thinking, She hasn't realized yet.

I study the TV screen hard, in an attempt to retract the one tear that seems to be forming in my right eye. Why the right? Is it one of those things where the right tear-duct is connected to the left side of the brain, and it is the left side of the brain that processes emotional trauma? I have no idea, but trying to work it out doesn't help anyway.

So my waterworks inevitably turn on, and I start to cry again. I immediately feel ten protecting arms surrounding me, and their hushed voices whisper "We got you."

I can feel someone patting my head, and I know it's Heather. Jenna is clutching my waist with strength, as if she could pass me over some mettle. Chris is thumbing away my tears, and cleaning my face over and over with stacks of tissues. Amber is rubbing my back, and Naya is sitting behind me, her front to my back, running her fingers through my hair and lightly scratching my scalp, because she knows it sends me into some kind of trance.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," Amber says, urging me to a standing position, and then they guide me to my bedroom, two girls linked to each of my arms, and Chris leading the way. They know I don't need to eat right now, they know I don't need anything else but some unconsciousness numbing my aching senses.

"We're all sleeping over, if you don't mind. We're going to treat you to a great breakfast in bed tomorrow morning," says Chris, still wiping up my watery eyes and cheeks.

"Let's get you in some sleep clothes, girl," says Jenna, and all of a sudden Heather is enveloping me in her arms again, her embrace strong and secure.

"I'll let you have my pajama pants for tonight, because they always cheer me up when I'm sad, so I hope they can brighten you up a little," Heather says, breaking the hug and handing me a pair of pink pajama pants with dancing cookies on them.

"What are you wearing to sleep then?" I croak out, immediately regretting the question because she answers nonchalantly, "Underwear," shrugging and planting a kiss on the top of my head, before helping the others in the process of undressing me and dressing me in an unlikely put-together pajamas: Heather's pink pants with dancing cookies, and a Jay-Z concert T-shirt they found on my bed.

A blushing Naya eyes nervously Heather from time to time, and a random question suddenly pops in my head.

"Do you ever find it weird that they managed to pull together a cast with so many gay members?"

They are taken aback by my observation, especially because it's expressed now, of all moments, so I continue: "I mean, Lea," I punch myself internally for saying her name, "Naya and I are bisexual, Chris and Kevin are gay, Heather is… whatever, I don't even get that. Don't you find it somewhat funny?"

They must think I'm mad, or simply disturbed by today's events, but my question is sincere. Jenna looks at me with unreadable eyes, then suddenly smiles and says, "Yeah, it is a little funny. But you people color up my life, like a giant rainbow," sobering right after, almost like she held something back, like a smart comment or a heart-rending observation.

So they all hug me goodnight, Chris tugs at my comforter and pulls it up to my chin, kissing my forehead and when everyone is gone he sits on the edge of my bed, proclaiming solemnly: "Once upon a time, there was a yellow duck called…" he squints his eyes at me, tilting his head to a side, and tries to think of a proper name. I realize he's making up this story for me, and a single tear glides down my cheek.

"…Flappy." He thumbs away the tear, and places his thumb close to his heart.

"Flappy was a duck with pretty feathers, a nice small bill, and beautiful, expressive eyes. Flappy was very kind, and everyone loved her for that. Flappy had many animal friends. There was a songbird, tiny, yet loud and straightforward; there was a giraffe, strong, yet kind and honest; there was a weasel, upfront yet caring; there was a panda, soft, kindhearted and so funny; there was a cheetah, motherly, yet powerful and fierce; there was a giant bear, with protective arms and a happy soul; there was a raven, witty and forthright; there was a dog, loyal and true; and lastly, there was a penguin," he taps his chest, "smart and thoughtful and handsome and sexy and insightful," he says, nonchalantly, "you may or may not want to stop me."

I laugh a little, and he continues.

"Flappy waddled her way across the world, discovering, inspiring, and spreading love wherever her heart led her. One day, the poor small Flappy tripped over a fallen tree branch. 'Oh no,' said Flappy, 'I think I hurt my wing!' Suddenly Flappy felt alone, and sad, and rejected. But then the giraffe, the weasel, the panda, the cheetah and the penguin arrived to help her. The giraffe, with her strong neck, gave Flappy support so that she could stand up. The cheetah licked Flappy's wound, the weasel bended a leaf to cover the scratch, the panda hugged Flappy, and the penguin told Flappy a story to distract her. They might not be able to effectively cure the cut, they couldn't give the feathers that had fallen off back to her, and they couldn't make the pain go away. But they were her friends, so they did what they could: wrap up the pain in a warm, gentle embrace, and wait with Flappy for it to go away."

As exhaustion creeps into my veins like an anaesthetic, I hear Chris whispering 'Goodnight, Flappy', and with the soft 'click' of my bedroom door, I drift asleep at last.

* * *

><p><strong>For those who were wondering, the animals in Chris' story all correspond to the Glee cast members: Flappy is clearly Dianna, the songbird is Lea, the giraffe is Heather, the weasel is Naya, the panda is Jenna, the cheetah is Amber, the bear is Cory, the raven is Mark, the dog is Kevin and the penguin is obviously Chris.<strong>

**Don't be too hard on Lea after this chapter, her motives will be better explained in the next one!**


	19. It's complicated

**Chapter 19 – It's complicated**

_17th January, 2010_

Sometimes, I like to go to record shops. You know, those narrow, dingy, dirty, overcrowded vintage stores that sell old cds, valuable b-sides, and collections-worth vinyls where you can smell the plastic dust covers: those are the ones that I like, even if they are usually damp, and with a constant, urgent need for a redecoration and a cleaning service company to take over the place.

Oh, the people you find there. The typical customer is usually around his thirties, male, probably with long, greasy black hair, otherwise bald, or with gravity-defying mohawks, maybe wearing a Sonic Youth t-shirt, some leather jacket and a pair of jeans, all of his clothes suggesting that they've seen better days. The un-typical customers, the ones that make the record shop owner's eyes peek over his copy of the latest Rolling Stone, are the unforeseeable ones: old ladies looking for an old Cole Porter vinyl, smartly dressed middle aged men, browsing through the cds to find some kind of music to alleviate the sense of loneliness and to shake off the apathy, or just sweet, caring dads, searching for that kind of band his daughter would like.

But the people I love, the ones that get me enthralled, are the ones who are being driven to find a tune that has been troubling them, distracting them, a tune that they can hear in their breath when they run for a bus, or in the rhythm of their windscreen wipers when they're driving home from work. Sometimes something banal and obvious is responsible for the distraction: they have heard it on the radio, or at a club. But sometimes, sometimes it's something magical: sometimes it has come to them because it was sunny outside, and they saw someone who looked nice, and they suddenly found themselves humming a snatch of a song they haven't heard for fifteen or twenty years. Once, when I was just browsing for an old Smashing Pumpkin record, the one with the nice cover that beguiled my mom into buying it (had she known she was treating me to hours of anguished, bruised reports from Billy Corgan's nightmare-land!), I overheard a conversation between this amazing, amazing customer and this weird, really weird shop owner. The Amazing Customer came in because he had dreamed a record, the whole thing, melody, title and artist. The Weird, Really Weird Shop Owner found it for him (it was an old Motown hit I really can't remember right now), and it was more or less exactly as it had appeared to him in his sleep: the expression on his face made the record shop owner almost look like a painter, or a midwife, or a philosophy essayist, someone whose life is routinely transcendental.

Well, today I'm at a record shop in LA, looking for a Sarah McLachlan album, and as a woman asks to a shop-assistant 'Have you got any soul?', I feel like answering for him, 'That depends.'

Some days I do, some days I don't. A few months ago I was alright; now I've got a lot, too much, more than I can handle. I wish I could spread it a bit more evenly, I want to tell her, I wish I could get a better balance (What does it mean anyway, that story people keep proposing about 'having balance'? Is it strictly scientific? Does a person really wobble up and down the street like some sort of fish-scale, according to how much love or how many friends he has in his life? I really don't think so). But I can't seem to get it sorted. I can see she wouldn't be interested in my internal stock control problems though, so I imagine pointing to where I would keep the soul that I have, right by the exit, just next to the blues.

As I lazily finger the plastic covers of old vinyls in the 'Folk Artists (Female) A-Z' section, my eyes happen to drop onto that Joni Mitchell album cover, the one with her painted self, all angular, bony cheeks and intense eyes staring into your soul from that dusty jacket, a lit up cigarette dangling from her slender fingers. A sudden image creeps into my mind, clouding my senses: Lea by our kitchen counter, not aware of my presence as I sneaked in the room. Her lusciously messy hair falling on her shoulders, which were barely draped by a thin white robe, which hung loosely to barely cover her bottom. I had woken up late in our apartment, after a night of – how can I put this – mind-blowing, earth-shattering, life-changing sex. And so I tiptoed into our kitchen, moving furtively, a burglar into my own house. And Lea was just standing there, making herself a sandwich, humming a very familiar tune by Joni Mitchell with a raspy morning voice:

_I've looked at love from both sides now_

_from give and take, and still somehow_

_it's love's illusions I recall_

_I really don't know love at all_

Right in that moment, I crawled to her, softly biting down on her butt, and then letting her chase me across the living room, while I squealed and squawked my way into her arms again.

Ironically enough, I just realized how the next lyrics to that beautiful song are. Do you know how the chanty goes? If I hadn't stopped her, she would've kept on singing, and she would've sung these prophetic, forewarning words to my love-clouded self:

_Tears and fears and feeling proud_

_to say "I love you" right out loud_

_dreams and schemes and circus crowds_

_I've looked at life that way_

As I recall her figure, a painful fit of discomfort hits me right beneath my sternum, while a general sense of sickness envelops my guts.

What have I got myself into?

I was _fine_, guys. I really was. And not just fine. Whenever someone asked me how I was, back two years ago, I shook my head, blew air through my mouth and said 'I'm ecstatic'. If you'd ask me now, I would just shake my head.

Sometimes, love is hard. And don't laugh at my clichèd line here: I'm talking about hiding your love in the dark-hard. I'm talking about sharing mothers, fathers, cats, dogs, sandwiches, beds, socks, clothes, bathrooms, life accomplishments and mind-blowing success, and then losing the person you shared them with-hard. I'm talking about feeling nausea because she's now dating a Broadway performer with blue eyes and a smug, 'well, fancy that' smirking face-hard. This kind of hard.

You know what? I don't know you. The only thing I know about you is, you're reading this. I don't know if you're happy or not, I don't know if you're young of not. I kind of hope you're young and sad, because if you're old and happy, I can imagine that you'll smile to yourself when you hear me going, she broke my heart. You'll remember someone who broke yours and you'll think to yourself, 'Oh yes, I remember how that feels'. But you can't, you smug oldie. Oh, you'll remember feeling sort of pleasantly sad. You might remember listening to music and eating chocolate in your room, or walking along the bridge on your own, wrapped up in a winter coat and feeling lonely and bold and brave. But can you remember how with every mouthful of food it felt like you were biting into your own guts? Can you remember the taste of red wine as it came back up and into your toilet bowl, feeling like something else was coming out too? Can you remember dreaming every night that she would come to her senses again, and that you were still together, that she was talking to you gently and touching you, so that every morning when you woke up you had to go through it all over again?

You can only say that when you've lost the love of your life, now, can't you?

As my go-to guy Bukowski once said, 'If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start'.

Now, I can proudly say that I had gone all the way. All the way, which means risking your job and your future and your childhood hopes and dreams for the love of your life.

Have you ever done that?

If you have… Well, good luck with that, amigo, I feel your pain.

If you haven't… Find someone who you think would be worth it. And I don't mean it in a corny way. In fact, true love is the antithesis of trite, the antipode of stereotyped: you should find that person who can wrench your heart just by looking at you, who can elicit shudders of elation from you just by grazing your skin with their hand, who can bring you to physical pain when you can't have them, who can knock off the air from your lungs just by a touch or a kiss or just by the feeling of having them close to you. Find that person, and stick with her. Him. Whatever.

We had loved, and it had been grand. The sort of love that can happen to you once in a lifetime, if you're very lucky. The sort of love that fills your heart so thoroughly you think you might explode, yes, why not, explode with happiness!

The sort of love that, once lost, it never returns.

I can see Lea has not fully moved on either. Sometimes we talk about petty things, and something we shared comes up, like a film we watched together, or a song I discovered on YouTube and made her listen to it. In those moments she smiles widely for a second, then catches herself having a good time: her grin suddenly falls and retreats and curls on itself and crawls back to where it came from, she looks down at her feet and fumbles with her fingers. A memory has taken over her mind, a happy one, and she can't quite shake off the feeling of melancholy, and she has to keep her hands busy because she can't hug me, or kiss me, or whisper to my ear flirtatiously, stroking my back with her knuckles. Not anymore.

I know, because I feel the same way.

But then, when someone else like Kevin or Cory barges in the conversation or makes a funny remark about something, she's back on her feet. She smiles and laughs again, her eyes bright as ever, her attitude as carefree as ever.

I have always been jealous of that side of her, but I know that's normal. From the moment I met her, she's been full of energy, and I've always wanted whatever she has.

She's always had this incredible brightness, like her petite body is not strong enough to carry around this joy that's inside of her. It always shines through, like there's this overabundance of bubbliness that fills her whole being so thoroughly that she can't withhold it. Sometimes it would shine through the sparkle in her eyes, or the brashness of a laugh, or the bluntness of a joke, enveloping the people around her in an eerie state of constant carefreeness and vivacity, dragging them into her own show of how life really should be lived.

* * *

><p><em>17th January, 2010 – Later, that night<em>

It's been hard. It still is hard. Difficult. Thorny. Knotty. Problematic. Complicated. Complex. Intricate. . I think you got the picture.

We still talk. We still cherish our friendship. We still share inside jokes, truly caring 'how are you's, and conversations about family and friends.

But the whole situation is difficult. We can't keep our expressions happy when we talk about something we shared, and that feeds the feeling that we're not over, not yet, and that neither of us really wants to move on.

But God, I just wish this feeling of upset stomach when I simply look at her would just vanish, and we could step in the next part of our lives.

I… met someone. It's not like I'm _in love_ with him either. Fuck, slap me if that happens, but at least I truly care for him. And our relationship is so easy to deal with. I don't have to hide or conceal anything, ever, at all. I can hold his hand in public and not have my agent calling me at 2am after he saw some candids, saying it's not doing any good to my career.

I feel good when I'm with him, probably also affected by the freedom I feel when I get to grab his face and kiss him in public, with no need to hide behind a bush.

But when I look at Dianna, who always flashes me with that old, loving look striking me through those beautiful honey-colored eyes, I feel like an invisible hand – her own hand – is wrenching my heart, and I could just crumble into dust.

I can't look at her with a straight face, like nothing ever happened between us, because it did happen. It did, it did, _it did_. We didn't dream it, even though it now feels all like a distant tale, an old fantasy, a blurry picture with nothing in focus.

I just wish this stage was over, and we could go on to the next stage, the stage where you look in the paper and see that _Moulin Rouge_ is on tv, and you say to yourself, Oh, I saw that with Dianna, without any feeling of nausea or impending doom.

And wouldn't it be great if I could go out with her, have dinner somewhere nice like we used to, and discover that there are no hard feelings left, just soft, squishy feelings? I'd feel clean, and calm, and ready to start over again.

Why is love like this? It doesn't pay to think like this, with all this mess and doubt and gray, smudged lines where there should be a crisp, sharp picture.

I'm thinking all of this while I'm sat uncomfortably beside Theo, at the 2010 Golden Globes. Theo is my… boyfriend, as you probably have guessed: he's a Broadway performer, blue eyes, strawberry-blond hair, and a face which could look like the one of a complete badass or of the sweetest guy on earth, depending on how you look at him.

I met him when I went to see _American Idiot_ in San Francisco in September of 2009 with Dianna to watch my friend John Gallagher Jr. perform in it. Jonathan was in LA at the time with Zachary, so they came aswell. It had been a great night, and I wanted to catch up with my fremps, so we just went out for a drink and a chatty talk about old times. Theo was part of the Ensemble in the musical, and he was really close to John at the time so he stuck around and went out with us. Turns out, the guy is interested in me. Turns out, I don't really care. I stick close to Dianna and kiss her and hug her and dance with her as much as I can, no cameras or paps being around us.

Turns out, the guy decided to get back in touch with me just when I broke up with Dianna. I told him it was no good time for him to come up to me, he said he didn't really care, he could be a friend. And God, I really needed friends. So he slowly made his way in my life, being there when I needed him to, and when I eventually stopped crying my eyes out at home (about a week ago) we started dating.

My mom doesn't really like him, and my dad doesn't really like him, and the Glee kids don't really like him… actually, the only one who keeps on saying that he's nice and that we look happy is Dianna.

Do I look happy? If I do, it's just my normal, constant bubbliness you see here, not the death-defying power of love and bliss I felt when I looked at her in the eyes and knew she was mine. Silly Di, always looking for good and for happiness and rainbows and kitties in others. She has a powerful and sometimes ill-advised sense of loyalty: she thinks she has to chin up and be the good friend, when I can clearly see the grimace her mouth twists into when she sees Theo.

So we try to be good friends, and when we can't stand the proximity to each other, we pretend we are just fine. Because if we admit that something's wrong, then we would end up falling apart, and our friendship would go with it too. And we couldn't possibly go through a day without each other, I know that about us.

Now, I know what you're all thinking, you people reading this. 'Go with Dianna and forget the boy!' Well, guys, it's not that easy. Have I already said it's hard? Well, you want to know just how hard it is? Let's try and be clear.

Dianna and I were together. We lived together aswell, and that period was incredible. We slept together, woke up to each other's smile, and fell asleep to each other's sighs. We even enjoyed that little thrill of going to events and being not-so-subtle about it all, exchanging flirty glances, tight hugs in front of cameras, saying 'At the end of the day… we hug each other!' and just reveling in excitement over the fact that as far as we went in public without kissing – holding hands, grabbing each other's waist possessively, flirting sutbly, tweeting about each other all the time – the press would still say 'Oh what a great friendship'.

Ha Ha. Friendship. Friendship my ass.

We were basically hiding in plain sight.

But then, apparently, something snapped, something clicked.

Like paintings, you know: they stay hung on walls, framed by their little settings for months, years, decades, and then _bam_, just like that, they fall down. Why, you would ask yourself, why now? You can never really know.

So, with that sort of breathtaking joke precision, one day the FOX execs that were organizing the tour in Australia wanted to have a little chitchat with us.

When someone at work uses child-like terms to mild what they have to say, trying to dress the truth in saccharine words, you can bet you're in for a disaster.

"The show is really getting big…"

"The tour in Australia will be announced soon…"

"The show is getting picked up for a full season…"

"We really have a huge hit on our hands and we want to deal with it in the most professional way possible…"

"You two might want to put a lid on the spectacle you're flaunting on red carpets and on Twitter, and even on the time you spend out together…"

"We really can't have the two female leads, who are very straight and bickering for a boy in the show, parading their lesbian relationship around the world…"

"The kids will get confused about what's really happening on the show, and if Rachel and Quinn are gay too…"

Our PRs agreed with that, because a young actress at the beginning of her career really doesn't need the added pressure of a coming out. Coming out as a bisexual, or even as a person who is in a gay relationship, I discovered, doesn't really magnetize for roles in Hollywood. And what are young breaking-through actresses without their leading role in the big, romantic chick flick of the year, which will pave their way to a more serious professional future? Nothing.

Ryan Murphy and the execs on Fox and our PRs gave us lectures of how closeted Hollywood really works, and why we should be in the closet and not out of it in the first place. Lots of bullshit. But that bullshit was coming from our bosses. So we just nodded and smiled.

The words "_Ladies_, we need to talk" became a terrifying combination of stiff, bitter sounds, and our minds always raced to what we might have done wrong this time, looking worriedly and anxiously in each other's eyes, browsing through stacks of memories: was it because they had taken a picture of us hugging at that party? Was it that time we went on a date in West Hollywood? Was it because we'd worn matching dresses at that event? Was it because I had laughed in the crook of Dianna's neck while on the red carpet? Was it because I had looked at Dianna _too_ endearingly? Was it because I had looked at Dianna _at all_?

And that was the beginning of the end.

Do you know what it's like to hide your feelings for someone – and not just someone, the fucking love of your life, the person you would happily run under a train for? You can't hide it. You just can't.

On the red carpet, I had to keep my hands busy all the time because I had the urge of lacing our fingers together. I had to just smile to her when she was being particularly cute when all I wanted to do was kiss her. I had to direct my thoughts elsewhere when she looked incredibly beautiful to refrain from ravishing her there and then.

Passion and love are hard to keep hidden and concealed. It always pours, shines through, bursts out from every look, every word, every touch.

In that period, our PRs started calling us in the middle of the night, usually after some candids had been released, yelling 'What are you doing with your career? Do you know how many roles Ellen Degeneres landed after coming out?'. Yes, Will, I do know, thank you very much. Zero. I know.

Also Jon, my dear, dear Jon came out himself, in October 2009, and the response to that and to his following performances basically was 'Ha, are you trying to play a straight man in this film, or in that play? You're gay, son, you're just not believable'.

Can you believe that? That people on this same earth, people from your own country and city, for fuck's sake, can be so mean to each other? I mean, we share the same air, people. We eat the same food, the walk the same paths, we probably even have some ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend in common, we all struggle through the same difficulties in life, so why make it harder for some of us? If you blurt out a snarky comment, it's not like you'll have someone's pat on the back for that, for God's sake!

Dianna once read me a quote by Bukowski, her paperback lover (she thinks I forget about this kind of stuff, but I always remember what she says to me), and it sounded something like this:

_We're all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing._

Yes Charles, very well put into words.

All I ever wanted to do in my life was either sing on Broadway, or act in romantic comedies.

So I just had to give up in the end, exhausted by the consumption of having to hide, to lie low, to cover up, to disguise and suppress and bottle up feelings, to dodge questions, to sneak away from cameras and paparazzi. I was tired and jaded. Of course, this didn't and doesn't make me feel any better, but at least it's a start. I can say that from here, I can move, with any luck, forward.

So… Yes, now you know. In the end, Hollywood is just a lie, told by one and perpetuated and worshiped by many. But it's our lie, and it's our life as well.

* * *

><p><em>17th January, 2010 – Later, that night<em>

Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms, Justin Bartha and Mike Tyson are now taking the stage, and cracking about their film and wild tigers and excessive drinking and public nudity.

I consider just how eerily incredible my job gets everyday. It's unbelievable. Just ten years ago, I was sat on my mother's lap, clapping along to Singin' in the Rain's "Good Morning", and dreamt to get to dance like Gene Kelly in a movie. Now I'm sitting in the same room as Helen Mirren, Sandra Bullock, Colin Firth, Meryl Streep, Marion Cotillard, Robert Downey Jr. and I'm sure I got a glimpse of Morgan Freeman on the red carpet. What an incredible life. I am a very lucky girl.

Now the four men on stage are done with their introducing speech, and Reese Witherspoon announces the nominees for Best Motion Picture, Comedy or Musical.

I quickly look at Lea.

There she is, at table twenty-four, sat on her chair, beautiful as ever in her black feather Cinderella gown, smoky eyes that could kill. Well, they just killed me, at least. Time of death: 9:46 pm. I can see she's talking politely and earnestly to a tanned elderly man I can't recognize, and I note the attentive way she listens, her hand placed now on the old man's arm, laughing at his joke, now taking a picture of him and squeezing Jane Lynch into the shot as well, now leaning into them to have her picture taken. She moves her hand from the table to cup her neck, and there follows a fleeting but still vivid memory of Lea in a hotel bedroom in Boston on Avery Street, in August, 2009. Dawn light through the curtains, a low queen-sized bed, her thin white robe around her waist, so thin that I could see everything, her left hand tucked between her chin and her collarbone, the other smacked on my face. Her figure asleep, and me, just beside her, watching her in the morning brilliance.

What has changed since then? Nothing, and everything. Nothing: the same lines form around her mouth when she chortles, her laugh is still boisterous like she can't hold back a thing and has to pass her cheerfulness over to her company, she still has the same eyes, unbelievably enormous and bright and shrewd and of a lighter tone of chocolate. Everything: Theo has now moved into my sight, leaning closer to Lea and putting his arm on her shoulders.

I don't positively loathe the guy. If Lea is happy with him, then I have to be a good friend and support their relationship.

Theo is whispering something in Lea's ear, smirking with his trademark, 'well, fancy that' grin, and Lea blushes a little and laughs out loud. I feel sick for a second, and I decide to drink. Champagne, you will be my fair companion tonight. Just like Bette Davis said once, 'There comes a time in every woman's life when the only thing that helps is a glass of champagne'. Well then, farewell dignity. Here comes Dianna Drunkgron.

As _(500) Days of Summer_ is announced, Lea stops laughing for a moment, brings her hand slowly to her chest gasping softly, and then turns to look at me, her expression dropping as she catches herself being drowned in some sensation I can't decipher.

We watched this movie together, in July of last year. Not so long ago. I remember her tweeting about that while we were walking back home. I remember loving her for doing that. I remember loving her for her words: "Took my lady to dinner and a movie… I mean that is the sensible thing to do," followed by her trademark smiley face. I remember her taking care of me that night, because I needed her to. It had been a particularly hard day: my dad had had one of those cyclic crisis and I couldn't go home because we were in the middle of shooting and promoting Glee. "I just don't feel old enough. I still feel very much like a child, one who needs to be taken care of. I can't be the adult daughter who takes care of her sick dad, it's still too soon. I don't feel like an adult, I still want him to be my daddy. And he's sick, Lea. There's nothing I can do about it, and I can't even go back home to see how he is." I remember her hugging me close, letting me cry it out over her shoulder and saying: "Di, like I always say, you can't be in ten places at the same time. Your dad knows very well how our job can be time-absorbing, and he's so _proud_ of you. Remember that time we were at your house and watched Glee? Do you remember him saying 'Look at my daughter, look at how fierce she is'? That's what he thinks of you. He still sees you as his little daughter, I could see it in his proud, caring eyes. But he also knows that you're fierce, that you're strong, because you are. You're the strongest person I've ever met. And this, this is just one of his crisises, your mom told us earlier. He will stand back up again, just like he always does. He's a strong man, you've taken that from him." I remember her seizing my shoulder gently and pulling me away from her to look at me in the eyes. "My lady, you're in for a treat tonight. Sushi, and an indie movie with Zooey Deschanel and Joseph Gordon-Levitt, featuring music by The Smiths, Regina Spektor, Simon & Garfunkel, Feist and Carla Bruni. How can you say no to that? And to me making my puppy dog eyes?" and she would pout, and I would laugh through sniffs, and we would make passionate love later on that night. It was one of those dates that Lea sometimes treated me to: it was her way of romancing me, going to movies or concerts or events she'd choose because she knew I would like them. It was her way of repeating our first date, it was her way of telling me, I know you.

I focus back on her chocolate eyes, and we share one of those intense, 'where has life gotten us?' kind of looks.

I know where life has gotten us Lea, you broke up with me.

Well, I can understand her now, somehow. In some twisted way. Although it still feels like I'm stretching to fully grasp what she meant. But I do understand her.

It was so hard not to aknowledge each other's presence in our life publicly.

It was hard to get separated interviews because our PRs were afraid we might play with each other's fingers (to be honest here, that was Lea's obsession, not mine), or that we might look at each other when the interviewer would mention something meaningful to us, or that we might subconsciously answer in a way that would suggest that we were together.

Sometimes, I would let her name slip in interviews, here and there, because when someone is such a big part of your life, her name will sneak out of your mouth, no matter how hard you try. I used to find it so sad that we couldn't publicly thank each other after having reached major career milestones, like having our show nominated for awards: I've always needed her to help me through the low points, the self doubt, the getting out of bed in the morning, the soldiering on. That's why her name would accidentally fall out of my mouth, a little anecdote, a 'she's very protective' here, or a 'she's talented' there. A little something to say, this person is in my life. A little something to say, this beautiful human being helped me to get to the point where I can stand up for myself more.

But she broke up with me. She broke up with me because she couldn't stand the pressure we were under, and she gave up. I still can't forgive her for giving up on us, for thinking we couldn't be strong enough to put up with the stress. Because we could have, we could have, we _could have_.

Part of me hates her. The egoistic, selfish, self-preserving part of me. The other part can't bear not looking at her, because I am still so in love with her, incredibly so.

For a split second, staring in her chocolate orbs, I think I can survive this situation, that I can be the best friend if that's what she wants me to do. I am strong enough for that. I can be better for her. I can be the adult person, wishing the love of my life happiness with somebody else.

But then she sniffs a little, her eyes crinkle up around the sides, her nose scrunches and her face gets all crumply before she sneezes, and I fall in love again. The cutest thing in the world, my tiny creature. I stare at her with what I'm sure is pure adoration, then Jenna pokes at my side: "Di, you already know what I think about this. I hate this situation, and I don't like the guy… But please don't hurt yourself. Try not to look at her." _Idiot Dianna, you're an idiot._

So I look away, and I sip my champagne. It's delicious and gradually intoxicating, and I can feel its warmth creeping inside my system.

"Di, _The Hangover_ won! Did you hear that?"

We went to see that together, Kevin and I. The blunt humor, the unconvincing plot and the brashness of it all didn't really strike me, but I found it incredibly funny at the time, and I remember laughing out loud, and just being so happy to spend some time with one of the amazing people I'd grown to love like my own family.

"Yeah, but _(500) Days of Summer_ should have won. _The Hangover_ was _terrible_." I say casually, sipping on my champagne again. _Where did that 'terrible' – taunting, snarky, bitter – come from?_

_Oh I know where that came from._ Lea is staring at the winners, chuckling lightly at their jokes, fingering the back of Theo's shirt collar absentmindedly, just like she used to do to me. I slither my finger around the rim of my champagne glass nervously, before gaining a soft jab in the ribs by Kevin.

"What is wrong with you?" he hisses to me.

"What the-"

"You're not the Dianna I know. You should be making comments about how amazing everything is, and how you enjoyed talking to the fans outside, and how you're happy that Michael Giacchino won the award for Best Original Score, and how pretty the hall chandelier looks and how lovely it was that Meryl Streep waved at you a couple of minutes ago, and _did you even notice anything?_"

"Bee, I noticed these things, yes. I have not gone blind." …_yet_, a stiff voice hisses inside my head, as Lea throws her head back laughing at a joke in that brash way I love.

"Then why aren't you acting crazy and idiosyncratic and wacky about it all? Why aren't you telling me how thankful you are to be here and that you can't wait to post on your Tumblr about it? Why aren't you tugging at my sleeve, telling me that Marion Cotillard looks so beautiful tonight and tormenting me about Robert Downey Jr's speech, quoting what he said and laughing hysterically at your own jokes? Di?"

I sigh, and I swat his thigh for describing me practically as a cuckoo. I take another sip of my champagne and smile to myself, thinking that I would normally act exactly like he said. If only I was a little happier, or lightheaded.

"I actually like you being quirky, you know…" Kevin whispers to me, running his hand up and down my forearm in a soothing manner, just being his usual best self. I love this guy. "I just miss seeing you being your happy self. It's been a while, Di…"

I sigh, a distinctive tingle prickling the back of my eyes and my throat, while I blow air through my nose, as I learned to do some time ago to sober up when I'm nervous.

"Look. You know what I think about this mess, and I won't tell you again that Lea still loves you in a way that makes my heart ache just by looking at the glances you share…"

I really don't want to hear this. I don't want hope, I don't want blurry situations. I want a very crisp, sharp picture. I don't want people to give me encouragement to creep my way into Lea's heart again, I just can't do that to her. Or to Theo. Or to their relationship. I'm not a relationship ruiner, I've never been, and ever since my high school boyfriend cheated on me with that girl from Maths class I decided I'd never be that kind of person. I'd never do something so hurtful to anyone else.

"I don't want to hear this, Kev. I'm never going back to Lea to shatter her happiness. Even if that crushes my chances of a future with her. I can't do that to her. And besides, she's the one who broke up with me."

"I know Di, I know! It's just that… Sometimes I think you can't see how Lea is unhappy with the guy. She truly is. She is not radiating bliss like when you two were together-"

"Bee, please, stop this." I'm on the verge of tears, so I inhale through my nose, trying to calm down, and I look up at the ceiling trying to push the tears back, finally noticing the chandelier. It_ is _very pretty_._

His blue eyes are boring through my soul, reading every line, understanding every thought. His gaze gets warmhearted and considerate, he tilts his head a little on the side, and his expression scares me. It scares me because he looks sympathetic, and all of my insides are screaming to him 'I am _fine_!' while my heart denies. You know the compassionate way people look at you when they believe that you _must_ be sad, because they know what you're going through, and then you feel like the moment you turn your back, they'll start talking concernedly about how miserable you look? Well, I started collecting those looks. And… there's one right now.

"Sorry, Di, I'm sorry. Look, I just wish you would care for your happiness just as much as you care about Lea's."

"I do care about my happiness. I do. I… Listen. I will get my mind off of this mess with music, and traveling, and art, and friends and I'll need your support. Okay?"

"Sure Di. I gotcha back, gurl," says Kevin after a while. He smiles, and taps his nose with his forefinger.

I will dedicate myself to myself, to my art, my sleep, my dreams, my works, my suffrances, my loneliness, my quirkiness, my endless absorption and passion – because I cannot dedicate myself to another being.

I'll just wait, and wait, because it gets better. It does, it does, _it does_.


	20. Getting messed up

**Thanks for reading guys, I truly appreciate all of your reviews, to which I like to reply, all of your favorites and story alerts.**

**Sorry for the wait: as always, life got in the way.**

**As always, I don't own any of the characters I mention, unless stated otherwise. This is just a story, and it's meant to be fictionary.**

**I got some dialogue ideas from "High Fidelity", a brilliant book (which I obviously don't own) by Nick Hornby, for this chapter.**

**Chapter 20 – Getting messed up**

_February 2, 2010_

We're in her trailer right now, Lea and I.

We still are friends and we still speak to each other, even though the embarassment of unpleasant conversations about her boyfriend is still there. So, she doesn't talk with any sort of depth about him, thank goodness: she cuts corners and trims edges and widens the margins and speaks in small letters to make it all look a bit less detailed or important than it really is. And in return, I tell her about new music, old friends, things I've discovered I'm good at, things I'm still not good at - cartwheels, I will master you someday, just wait for it.

We are now on a break from shooting the Lady Gaga episode of Glee, we are a bit exhausted from all those dance routines, so my filter is a bit off. It's off big time, actually, and my ability to speak sensitively goes with it too.

"How are you?"

"Good. Great. I like what we're working on this week, Idina Menzel is playing my mom, friends are nice… The usual, you know."

I nod, but I don't know, not really.

"I'm glad you're happy with your life."

She looks down at her tall cup of coffee, so tall that it's currently sort of tucked under her chin. She looks defeated, and she whispers: "I didn't say I was happy with my life, Di. I said that I was fine, as in no colds, no recent fender bender, no suspected prison sentences. That's what I meant."

I nod stupidly, not really knowing what to say about that.

"How is it going with Theo? I don't see him on set as much as I used to."

I sound a little sad, like seeing him was a nice encounter I'm nostalgic about, but honestly I'm glad I don't get to see his smug, well-fancy-that smirk anymore. Even the sight of that is a punch in the stomach.

"Well, you know. Just… the usual."

It seems like her new favorite word is _usual_ and I find myself wondering if she's talking evasively to avoid talking about him at all. I'd like to say something sensitive, and ask her how it really is going with him, and if they might have some issues and how I can be a good friend about it, but as I mentioned, I'm exhausted and my filter is off. So instead my mouth decides to be connected directly to the back of my mind, and I decide to direct the conversation to what I've been thinking about all week.

"So it's all working out with Theo, isn't it?"

"Well, you could say it is."

And maybe it's her expression, which falls undefinably somewhere between ironic and dejected, but I need to ask more. To know more. And my stupid mouth won't stop moving.

"What do you mean? Have things… progressed?"

"What do you mean, progressed?"

"Well… You know."

"I really don't."

So I just rest my head in my hand, grab my coffee with the other, and try to hide my eyes behind them both as I say:

"Have you two been… intimate?"

And I pretend to drink my coffee after that, just for the veracity of it because I'm in fact sheltering my face with my mug, as if her words could travel from her mouth across the table and directly to my face to wound me.

I'm not proud of myself, and I honestly can say this is one of my lowest moments. Everytime I think I have got to the bottom, I find a new way to sink even lower, to effectively end up being stuck underneath rock bottom plus 50 other feet of bullshit. But I know that this is the worst, and that whatever happens to me from now on, however strange or stupid or single I get, these few minutes will remain with me as a shining cautionary beacon: 'Is it better than asking Lea if she slept with Theo during a break in _her_ trailer?' I shall ask myself as I don't get a part in an important movie, or when I start an argument at a family dinner, and the answer will always be, Yes.

I can see her expression from just above the rim of my mug, and she certainly doesn't look happy. She looks wretched.

"Is that what's bothering you?"

I decide to try to sound casual.

"I don't know." And I really don't.

Okay, I know it _is_ what's bothering me, but I'm trying to sound smooth here, even if the evidence of just having asked her if she had sex with her boyfriend is giving me no credit.

"Well, we… I haven't felt like it, yet."

Yes!

She hasn't felt like it yet!

I gulp the rest of my coffee between excited nods, blabber out something about having to go home for the day because I have no more scenes to shoot, and I don't, so I kiss her on the cheek and go straight home. I feel like a new woman, although not very much like a New Woman. I feel so much better, in fact, that I go straight home and sleep with Lexi.

I know you will go now, 'Oh no, what an asshole'.

And you'd be right.

But first, let me explain here. There maybe aren't mitigating circumstances for what I'm just about to do, unless context can be regarded as mitigating. But before you judge, although you have probably already done so, go away and write down the worst thing that you have done, to yourself, to your parents, to your partner, to your colleagues, I don't care. Don't dress these things up, or try to explain them. Just write them down, in a list, in the plainest language possible. Finished? Okay, so who'se the asshole now?

You could say that I have developed a 'type', like James Stewart in _Vertigo_: dark-haired, loquatious, with an interesting accent and a blunt sense of humor.

Lexi is a friend from work, as one could say. We've been out a couple of times, nothing serious really, she's flirted with me before, and I've just been blushing and smirking and getting wide-eyed until today.

She's been a dancer on the show for a while, and she's… interesting. She's got dark hair and a naturally self-centered, bossy attitude about her that reminds me a little bit of a certain someone.

And she is sad, in the original sense of the word. She was dumped a couple of months ago by a sort of equivalent to Lea, some girl called Ruth. When they broke up, Lexi swore off women for a while, just like I did when Lea broke up with me. It made sense to swear off together, to pool our loathing for the same sex and get to share a bed with someone at the same time.

Anyway, I get back home and call her, she gets there and we kiss, and then we sit down and kiss, and half of me is telling myself not to worry, and the other half is pleased with myself for feeling something that isn't nausea or heartbreak, and there isn't really any room for desire or lust left when she starts taking off my clothes unceremoniously.

We have sex, and it's a bit like a particularly demanding game of tennis, leaving me aching with a general sense that I lost, somehow.

As I lay back on my bed, very naked and incredibly weary, one thing comes up to my mind: we cannot fill a room. I don't mean that we don't have enough stuff, or aren't tall or wide enough. I mean that neither of us seems loud enough, or powerful enough, so that right now, because we are together, I am conscious of how the only space we occupy is that taken up by our bodies. We cannot project like some couples can. I know how it is, to fill a room with the sheer presence of your naked forms, somehow tangled together in a way that makes you think, We'll never get out of this bed. I mean, of course you will, because you can't live in your bed, but in your mind, metaphorically, you'll never leave that state of mind where everything is still, and quiet, and her hand is moving idly through the air, swaying as the sunlight catches each particle of dust and as her fingers dance through them. You're never going to recover from that. Once you're there, you're gone forever.

But Lexi and I can't fill a room.

We have no connection whatsoever.

Our bodies are not tangled together, because what we made wasn't love. Bodies tangle together only when what you share isn't purely physical, which is silly if you think about it. Bodies only tangle together when feelings are involved, when you want to feel the warmth and the natural smell of her skin, when you feel so at ease that you almost start to believe that every curve of her body was made just to fit yours, when you want to just look in each other's eyes at a proximity that would normally make you blush, or avert your gaze, but surprisingly doesn't, because what you have shared is incredible, and sounds like a mystic force, ready to rip your soul apart and set you free.

Instead, we lay stiff and apart on my bed, and I'm okay with that.

On top of that, I realize that maybe our shared admiration of Audrey Hepburn and her movies wasn't enough to jump into bed with each other, and that all we really have in common is that we were both dumped by people.

While kissing her and feeling her hair between my fingers made me feel good, really thinking this through leaves me with a general sense of sickness, so I make sure she's dozen off on my bed before I stand up, grab a large shirt from my closet and walk to the kitchen to sit on the couch.

After a little while, Lexi gets up too, and sits down next to me.

"Are you sitting here wondering what you're doing?"

I decide to be honest, because there's really no point in lying.

"Yes."

"Good, 'cause that's why I'm sitting here too, if that helps."

It really doesn't.

"Worked anything out?" I ask, feeling suddenly introverted, even after what we've just done. And maybe that's because, despite it being sex, it wasn't very intimate. We didn't share, we demanded. We didn't do it for each other, we did it for ourselves.

"Some stuff. I've worked out that I was lonely, and I went and jumped into bed with the first person who'd have me. And I also worked out that I was lucky it was you, and not somebody mean, or boring, or mental."

"I'm not sure about that. I've had a pretty tough couple of months."

"What happened?"

"Apart from the obvious? Nothing's happened, I've had a bad couple of months in my head, that's all."

Before we slept together, there was at least some pretence that it was something we both wanted to do, that acting all spontaneous and carefree would lead to something goof. But now all the pretence seems to have gone, and we're left to face the fact that we're sitting here talking about the sex we just had because there is no one else we would be talking to today. And that thought really brings me down.

"I don't care if you've got the mean reds," Lexi says. Here she goes again, quoting _Breakfast at Tiffany's_. I thought it was cute at the beginning, but when you start quoting films each and every time you think you have to say something smart, it just gets annoying.

"It's ok. And I wasn't fooled by you acting all cool about… Lea. But people are allowed to feel horny and fucked-up at the same time. You shouldn't feel embarassed about it."

I'm beginning to feel more embarassed about the conversation than about anything we've just done. Horny? Do people really use that word? Jesus. But right then, she has to go and make everything even worse.

"Why should we be denied basic human rights just because we've messed up our relationships?"

I'm baffled.

"You think sex is a human right?"

"You bet. And I'm not going to let an asshole stand between me and a fuck."

I try not to think about the peculiar anatomical diagram she's just drawn, but she makes it difficult.

"That asshole being?"

And she goes, Ruth.

And she blabbers on and on about this babe, and how she ruined her life, and I realize I really don't want to hear about any of this. Sure, she can talk to me tomorrow, at dance practice, when we are in our sweats and tank tops and at a good two foot distance from each other, but not right now. Not when she's sitting naked on my apartment couch.

This feels all like a gigantic mistake.

I guess I had to see what was out there, and now I know.

I had sex with Lexi to spite Lea for having that hold on me. I didn't want to be a slave to the way I feel about her. And I know it's all really contradictory because I was dying to know if she was being 'intimate' with Theo or not, and when she said she couldn't yet, I felt so free and happy I was ready to prove to myself that I could do whatever I wanted, that I really didn't care about her.

But the thing is, I do. I still do.

And I hate this feeling.

* * *

><p><em>February 2, 2010<em>

I feel so confused by the conversation I just had with Dianna I just need a relaxed chat with a friend. I'm lucky that Jon is in L.A. because he's shooting Glee with us, so I just call him up and we decide to meet by his trailer in ten minutes.

He greets me there with his trademark Jesse St. James showtime grin, and I can almost feel it as my heart swells in relief.

"Yo, Berry!"

"Out of character much, Groff? Jesse would never, not even in a thousand years, say 'yo'," I yell at him, roughly jumping in his arms.

"Fancy a ride in my trailer?" says Jon, opening the door and extending his hand in a chivalrous gesture.

"But of course, mister," I say, as I take his hand and climb up the entrance stairs.

We sit on his trailer couch, and I take a deep breath to calm down.

"What's up, Lea? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I… Yeah, the usual."

He eyes me from the far opposite end of his couch, and I can feel myself shrinking under his gaze.

"Lea, you should know by now I can tell when you're lying. You can't look at me in the eyes when you do. So just tell me the truth, will you? How are you?"

"I don't know, Jon… I don't know anymore."

His gaze softens, he moves up closer and he lets me snuggle my head into his shoulder, and he starts threading his fingers in my hair.

"What happened?" he asks softly.

"Do you ever feel like you're in a… temporary state of your life?"

He stops the scratching of my scalp, and he asks, "What do you mean?"

"I've been feeling… temporarily unsettled. Like I'm in this sort of limbo, stuck between two states of mind. I feel as though I am in an airport lounge waiting for a plane. Do you ever feel that sort of thing?"

"Sometimes, I guess."

"Well, I feel like that now. I always flick through magazines and browse in gift shops in that pre-boarding time in airports, and that's what the last couple of months have felt like: one flick through a magazine, while I'm waiting for a plane. Petty, somehow. Meaningless."

There's a comfortable silence.

"Why do you think you feel unsettled?"

"I- I don't know. It's probably because I don't want to go back there. I don't want to feel scared and constantly threatened because of what Dianna and I had. But I also want to feel that sort of unconditional love, rather than the faint conditional affection I can scrape together for Theo every now and then. I want to be held by someone who would never question the embrace, the why or the how or the how long."

"Are you sure you like Theo?"

I've thought about this, a lot.

"I guess we fell upon each other with relief. He liked me, or at least that's what he said. And I needed a friend, and some kind of relaxed situation in which I could prove to myself that things could be easy and carefree, kisses could be given in public, and that love could be easy. I'm not so sure about that now."

"But do you _like_ him?"

"I don't- I think I do, at times. I like him when he acts cute, or when he talk about music and musical theater, or when we sing in my car or when we watch TV together. I like it when I get to kiss him in public and hold his hand. But I don't think I could ever… _love_ him."

I look up at him.

"We're so similar, though, Theo and I. I find it weird that I don't like him."

"Well, you have matching interests and temperaments, you are eerily similar. You match like two pieces of a jigsaw. You'll never feel yearning, or itchy, in a way that two connecting pieces of a jigsaw never feel yearning or itchy. If jigsaw pieces had feelings and could talk, they'd probably say to themselves, 'It's okay, I'm just going to stay here, where else would I go?'"

I laugh a little. He combs through my hair with his fingers affectionately, and he sighs a little.

"The thing is, humans aren't jigsaw pieces, and relationships don't work that way. Jigsaw aren't bloody-minded, and they don't have that particularly human determination to affix themselves to another even if it's going to be hard, or even if maybe they don't fill each other's blanks. Humans don't care about jutting off at weird angles, they are motivated not by seamless and sensible matching, but by eyes, mouths, smiles, minds, breasts and chests and asses, wit, kindness, charm, ability to woo and all sorts of other things that makes straight edges impossible to achieve. Your interests may match, but you two don't."

"But it would be so easy… I'd love to love him! Love with him could be so easy…"

"Love is never easy, Lea. It's always going to be heart-breaking, and it's always going to feel like suicide. But that's the good part, right? Love is never perfect, it will never be, and that's good."

There's another comfortable silence, and I snuggle closer into him. The warmth of his chest makes me feel safe, and relaxed.

"Lea, I'm going to ask you a very precise question now, and I want an answer. 'Kay?"

"'Kay."

"Are you still in love with Dianna?"

I sort of expected this, but it still hits me hard in my chest, and I suddenly see her face before me, looking at me with those honey-colored eyes and that sad smile. I immediately feel like crying.

"I… I think I am."

"You _think_ you are? Don't you try and wiggle yourself out of it now, Lea. Either you are or you're not. It's a pretty simple question."

"I am in love with her, okay?"

He stays silent for a moment, then he whispers in a sad voice, "Lea, what the hell are you doing?"

I sit back up and out of his arms, and turn to lock my eyes with his. Baby blues.

"What-"

"Lea, you broke up with Dianna because you felt scared, and that I can understand. You broke up with her so that she could shine and have someone who's not afraid all the time, that you told me."

Yes. I broke up with her so that she could be happy, of a happiness that fills your soul thoroughly and can push you to do the craziest things, of a happiness that I thought we could never really reach: it was just an inch away from our fingers, but I was chained to the ground and could never really fully grasp it.

I nod, my eyes fixed on my joined hands which rest on my lap.

"But I don't understand why you're still in love with her," he shrugs.

"Why? How can I not? She's- she's a wonder. Every single day. Even today: she was tired, she had no make up on. And as we walked up the steps of my trailer and I could smell her skin and I felt my eyes flutter instinctively, and as she twirled a lock of her messy hair as she drank, and as she choked on the coffee and laughed as she coughed… I knew I could never stop loving her. Every inch of her. I thought… When I broke up with her, I thought that- I thought that eventually, I'd see her happy and I'd be happy about it. That eventually, she would find someone who's worthy of her, who isn't scared, and that she would shine and smile and laugh. But everyday… I see her smile fading and I'm still in love with her and I want her back and I feel so bad about it because I was the one who broke us up in the first place, and I don't know what to do about it."

"You don't know what to do about it? You _don't know_?"

"What do you mean?"

"Lea, I just- Okay, first of all, you need to break up with Theo. You obviously don't love him. He's been a friend to you, and the least you own him is some honesty."

"Yeah, I… I will."

He nods, looking giddy and enthusiastic about what he's about to tell me.

"Then, and please don't start yelling at me, you need to win Dianna back."

"But Jon! I… the reason why I broke up with her isn't going to change! We still can't come out, I still am going to feel afraid and scared and threatened. What kind of happiness is that?"

"WHAT KIND OF HAPPINESS IS THAT? Lea, it's love! That's happiness and it should be enough! It was enough for her!"

"But it's not that easy!"

"Who the hell _ever_ put in your tiny head love could _ever_ be easy? Love is not easy. That's we songs are sung, and books are written and movies are made! We all struggle through it, but it's the best thing we own!"

He sighs for a moment, trying to recollect himself.

"Listen to me. Love is just a shout into the void. It's pain, and passion, and a constant agony."

He ponders for a moment.

"I think that some things are meant to be broken. Imperfect. Chaotic. Love isn't all perfect and rainbows and cupcakes and you writing her name on notebooks over and over again. Love is disarray, love is messy, and that's why it's so great. It unsettles us. Love being a complete jumble, that's the universe's way of providing contrast. There have to be a few holes in the road, it's how life is. The fun part is overcoming them, jumping over those holes and yelling, I made it!"

"But I… I don't know if she wants me. I don't think she wants a scared person. I don't think she'd ever want me back. I screwed up big time, that I know. I hurt her. I wrecked her, I-"

I feel a burden on the back of my throat, and my eyes suddenly feel tearful.

"Well, you did. I'm not going to lie to you, I was mad at you when you broke up with her. But do you really want her back?"

"I do, so much…" I manage to say, between sobs.

"Then you need to win her back. In great style. And I'm talking about doing _anything_ to win her back. Because, let's face it, she's not going to run into your arms as soon as you show up. You also need to be ready for rejection. If she doesn't want you, and if you don't see any doubt in her eyes, you need to step back and let her be happy."

I nod silently, "I'll do anything."

"Also, no more excuses, Lea. Don't sit there and wait for her to call, _you_ go after her. Don't wait for her to give you a sign, because she's not going to move a finger to get back with you, you know that. She's a strong person, she's not going to fall back into your arms."

I nod sadly, and he smiles brightly.

"But, I'm telling you now, there are people I might have got back together with even if they screwed up big time, had they gotten on the airplane or run down the street after me or called me at four in the morning because they need to tell me right now and because they cannot regret this. And I always thought I'd be the only one doing crazy things for people who would never give enough of a damn to do it back, or act like idiots, or be entirely vulnerable and honest, but the truth is… love should be like that. It should always be mad, passionate, extraordinary. So don't sit around. Go scream it, because that's what you should do if you love someone. Talk to her in meaningful ways because that is beautiful and that is what loving someone is. It's raw and it's unguarded, and that is all that's worth anything, really."

I hug him tight, and we sit like that for a while.

"Thank you," I whisper in his neck.

"You'd better fix it for good, Lea, and in great style," he whispers back.

"You're so wise. I swear, if you weren't gay, you'd definitely go to heaven."

I can feel him smiling against the side of my head, and he whispers, "Thanks, Lea, back at you," and he laughs, because it's Will & Grace all over again.

Operation Win Dianna Back has now started.

Wish me luck!

Oh, right. Theo first. Alright.

Wish me luck anyway.

* * *

><p><em>February 10, 2010<em>

_I haven't felt like it, yet._

The echo of what Lea said to me just about a week ago rolls around in my head like a perpetual spiral, stressing a different part of the sentence each time, giving the words an incredibly varying meaning each time.

_I_ haven't felt like it, yet.

I _haven't _felt like it, yet.

I haven't _felt_ like it, yet.

And then, the most terrifying version: I haven't felt like it, _yet._

She said that eight days ago. Eight days! She could have been… intimate with him eight times since then! (She could have been with him thirty times since then, but you know what I mean.) And even if she hasn't, was she threatening to?

What does 'yet' mean, after all?

'I haven't seen _When Harry Met Sally_ yet.' What does that mean? It means you're going to, doesn't it?

"Heather, if I were to say to you that I haven't seen _When Harry Met Sally _yet, what would that mean?"

We're all stretching in our dance practice room right now, and Heather just looks at me from between her legs, her face upside down. She's bending over, and I'm quite impressed by how easily she can twist and stretch. She could easily be a stripper. Or a contortionist.

"Just… come on, what would it mean to you? That sentence? "I haven't seen _When Harry Met Sally_ yet"?"

"To me, it would mean that you're a liar. Either that, or you're gone cuckoo. You saw it at least ten times, seven of which with me. We had that conversation about men and women being capable of staying just friends and about sexy women being capable of just staying friends like, among themselves."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But say I hadn't seen it and I said to you, "I haven't seen _When Harry Met Sally_ yet", what would you think?"

"I would think, you're mad as a hatter. And then I'd feel sorry for you."

"No, but would you think, from that one sentence, that I was going to see it?"

"I'd hope you were, yeah, because it's a damn good movie and everyone should watch it."

"No, but-"

"I'm sorry, Di, but I'm struggling here. I don't understand any part of this conversation. You're asking me what I'd think if you told me that you hadn't seen a movie that you've seen. What am I supposed to say?"

"Just listen to me. If I said to you-"

"-I haven't seen _When Harry Met Sally_ yet, yes, I hear you-"

"Would you… would you get the impression that I wanted to see it?"

"Well… you couldn't have been desperate, otherwise you'd have already gone."

"Exactly! Thank you-"

"But, but the word 'yet'… yeah, I'd get the impression that you wanted to see it."

Shit.

"Mmh. But in your opinion, would I definitely go?"

"How am I supposed to know that? You might get sad or go blind or get run over by a bus for all I know. You might get off the idea. You might get strapped or you might just get tired of people telling you you really-really have to watch it."

I don't like the sound of that. "Why would they care?"

"Because it's a damn good movie. It's funny, and it's romantic, and it's unapologetic, and it's got Meg Ryan – she didn't have all that botox in her face yet – and Billy Crystal, and everything. Also because the orgasm scene."

Maybe there's no comparison between Theo being… intimate with Lea and _When Harry Met Sally_ after all. Theo doesn't have Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal in him. And Theo is not funny, or romantic, or unapologetic. Okay, maybe he is all of those, but surely he's got no orgasm scene in him-

Actually, I just should get this out of my head before this train of thought spirals out of my control and creeps into dark corners and black shadows.

So when I see Lexi skipping in my direction as we wait for Harry and Heather to get the right iPod track for today's routine, I have a semi-panic attack. I suddenly feel like I have to leave, soon, before I get publicly humiliated, or before she channels her inner Holly Golightly again, but she's too close now, and it's not like I can run out of the room all of a sudden.

"Hey, D baby," aaaaannnd here she goes again with all the _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ quoting business, "how are you?"

Oh, just wonderful, darling. And men are all rats. And I don't want to be locked in a cage. And I'm not Holly, and I'm not even Lula Mae. And send me a list of the 50 richest men of Brazil. And you shouldn't fall in love with a wild creature. And cat, you poor slob without a name.

I take a deep sigh.

"I'm fine. You?"

"I'm just wonderful!"

Told you.

"Even though," she continues, "you haven't really talked to me lately," and she raises a hand to touch my forearm. Then said hand crawls up my arm, never breaking contact with my skin, all the way up to my shoulder, and she stops right by my neck.

"Yeah, I've- I've had a pretty hectic week," I say, half embarassed, half blushing for all the skin brushing and the eyes meeting and her voice dropping.

_Are we flirting?_

* * *

><p>She's flirting.<p>

In her own reserved, complicated way. Her eyes are raking Lexi's figure and her eyelids look droopy. She's showing her teeth without really smiling, and she raises her right eyebrow.

Her face is her flirting device. She doesn't need words. She's too shy to use them, sometimes. So, she just lets her face do all the work. And it's incredibly effective. Of course it is, I mean, have you seen her face?

So, okay. She's flirting. And she's raking Lexi's body over and over again. And dear heart of mine, meet stomach. I feel my face burning up and I really want to tear something apart right now. Maybe my shirt, so I can pull a Hulk.

Do try to control yourself, Lea.

Dianna is flirting with a gorgeous dancer. So what?

So what? So plenty!

Sigh.

Oh wait, now she moved her hand to rub her nape, it means she's actually at least a bit embarassed by the situation.

Wait, her hand is gone.

Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.

"Wow, that's some eyesex, right there," Cory whispers to no one in particular.

What?

No!

"Cory, that's not eyesex."

"Whah? Have you seen Dianna's eyes? The flutter, the droopy eyelid, the side smirk?"

"That- that's not flirting for her. She has a natural flirty air about her. It's deeply engrained in her."

"Woo, alright twitchy pants!"

I eyeroll and cross my arms over my chest. I know I'm being obnoxious right now. We usually play around on set, I'm not used to arguing with my fremps. But she is _not_ flirting, all right? All right?

My Operation Win Dianna Back didn't start exactly well.

But at least I broke up with Theo last night, and he was so nice about it.

I called him up and asked him to come over at my house – breaking up with him in his hotel room, although very movie-like and bittersweet, wasn't exactly my idea of pleasant – so he got there, and I went, We have to talk, Theo.

And he went, Oh, and he sat down on my black leather couch.

And I went, Yeah. And then I sighed and sat down beside him, and we stayed silent for a moment, as I tried to collect my thoughts and pondered over the best way to put it.

"You came into my life while I was still in love with someone else. You knew it, and you've been a precious friend to me, especially when I was going through so much that I couldn't really process. You helped me through that. But I realized, I can't really fall out of love with Dianna. That's not going to happen."

Then he looked at his shoes for a moment, and said, "I get that."

"I'm so sorry for doing this to you. You're such a nice guy, and it feels like all I do is hurt people, all the time-"

"Lea, hey. It's not so bad. I mean, I like you and I think you're a really nice girl but the truth is, we didn't really click, love-wise. I had liked you for a while when you finally let me in, but obviously truly being together with a person will feel different."

I nodded, and he went on: "But hey, I like being your friend. We share the same passion and the same taste in so many things. So it's not like I'll be crying my eyes out at home for months, which I'd certainly do if you decided not to be friends with me anymore," and he winked, and I thought, He's such a great guy.

"I'm so glad we're on the same page on this. And I'd never want to lose you as a friend. I mean, who else shares my obsessive love for reality tv?" and we laughed, and we hugged, and we stayed like that for a while. Then he said, I'm hungry, and we ordered pizza and watched tv for a while, until he left with a promise to meet up sometime while he's still in L.A.

I'm thinking about him as Dianna runs her slender fingers through her hair and walks back in our direction, leaving Lexi to skip out of the room. She's a weird girl, that Lexi.

"So, who dropped into your lap this time?"

"_This time_?"

"Giiirrls keep dropping on your lap and you don't even have to move a finger. You just bat your eyelashes and that's it. But the question is, is she just another one on the conveyor belt?" Naya asks, wiping at her forehead with the back of her hand, with a smug, know-it-all smirk plastered all across her face.

Hold on. What is she talking about? Girls dropping in Dianna's lap? Girls as in plural, girl_s_? And what does she mean, Is she just another one on the conveyor belt?

"Yeah. She has to be out by tonight, otherwise the next one bumps into her and she causes a pile-up. I lost some girls like that," Dianna says flatly as she stretches her arms back and pushes her chest forward, distracting me a little bit.

Wait, what?

"You- you're-" I choke out, before Naya says, "Ha ha, Di, very funny."

"Ha! You were joking! You were just joking! Right?" I blurt out. Word vomit much, Lea?

Then Dianna turns to look at me with the funniest look I've ever seen on her: eyes wide like saucers, jaw dropped slack, and some of her bangs sticking on her forehead in some points. She looks funny, but still so bright and radiant.

As I find myself staring in wonder at the single droplet of sweat that is dribbling down the side of her neck and then on her sternum and then between her breasts, she scrunches up her forehead and says, indignantly: "Of course I was just joking, Lea, what kind of person do you think I am?"

Lea, you are an asshole.

"I'm sorry, I- I…" I stutter, waving a hand casually before me, trying to sound lucid. Do try to sound lucid, Lea.

The thin trickle of sweat that is now on her chest is not helping me make sense of what's turned into mush in my head, right now. So I decide do wait a little.

Okay, time for some _Bad Romance_ routine and then I'll get back to it.

I need to win her back in great style, and it won't be easy, I know that.

I don't even know whether she'll want me back or not.

But, I will try, and I will try hard.

Because, finally, I'm not going to deny myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I'm in love with her, and I know that love is just a shout in the void, and that we're all doomed and there will come a day when all of our struggles have been turned back into dust and the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, but I'm in love with her.

I'm in love with her iridescent hazel eyes, and I'm in love with her long eyelashes, that look so pretty when she cries or when it's raining. I'm in love with her perfect lips and her sweet voice, that sounds like Earl Grey Tea. I'm in love with the way she likes to dress, and I'm in love with her laugh, so childlike and innocent. And I found that, when I see her, she actually moves in slow motion: time stops, and I feel warm all over and my heart beat picks up and my head fills with the only thought of, Holy crap she's perfect.

I'm not going to deny this to myself. And this time, I will make sure I'll never leave her - if she ever wants me back, that is. I'll never leave her because I know that however scared or panicked or frightened or stupid I get, I won't mess up this time.

Because I know now. Love is all about getting messed up.


	21. Bluebird

**Thank you all for the amazing reviews. I always try to reply to all of you so I can directly thank you, but I feel like I missed someone so, thank you.**

**I'm sorry for the late chapter update but, I'm a student and I'm studying for an exam, also I'm a normal person with a life.**

**I would like to remind to the new readers that the long lines represent a switch of point of view, and everything that I write is a work of fantasy and imagination. Nothing of this story claims to be true or of any resemblance to reality.**

**This is not long, but I hope you like it anyway.**

**Stick with me!**

**Side note: the poem at the end of this chapter is a beautiful poem by Charles Bukowski, called "Bluebird". Hence the name of this chapter. Also, the last sentence of this chapter is a reference to "Perks of Being a Wallflower". I feel like Dianna would remember quotes here and there from books she read.**

**Chapter 21 – Bluebird**

_February 10, 2010_

I realized belatedly. I realized belatedly which way you should always go in life, and that is, towards desires. You'd expect other things to save people: duty, honesty, being good, being just. But they don't. The truth is, desires save people. They are the only real thing. You stick with them, and they will save you.

I realized belatedly. But if you do go the right way, if you give life some time, it will swing you around in a strange, inexorable way.

You'll soon realize that you can't desire something without getting hurt. And right there, you just know the whole idea is a mess: it's not right to get hurt by desiring, is it? It shouldn't be this way, you think, as you push yourself a little bit deeper into someone else's life, as you tighten your grip onto someone else's hand.

But the truth is, there's no way to escape that: the more you try to break free, the more the net tangles up, the more you try to resist, the more you wound yourself.

So I wonder, why try and resist? What is the point?

Just indulge in where the current of your love waves take you. Follow them. Lose yourself in them. It's the only good thing about life, really.

I'm thinking all of this while I walk to Dianna's apartment. It's night, a light breeze is blowing and creeping up my jacket and sweater, making me shiver again and again. I look up: the sky is pitch-black, except for some thunderous grey clouds threatening to rage with rain and bolts and lightenings. The sky has been painted by Gericault tonight.

I need to apologize to her.

We like to build our own little fantasy worlds sometimes. You can go on believing in them for years, it doesn't matter how crazy or unlikely they are: you just wear them like a winter coat, reveling in the feeling that there's at least _that much_ that you know about your life. You really don't, but that's beside the point because controlling something, even if that's not real, feels good. You just wear your fantasies on you and you carry them around with you wherever you go. Then one day, a tiny little screw breaks in the core of the contraption you created and, without a real reason, it all shutters and you just stand there, without even understanding how that amazing story you created and wrote is not inside you anymore, but rather stands before your eyes, like it was someone else's madness.

Well, I did exactly that. I broke up with Dianna and I thought, I can move on, I can. And I even convinced myself that I liked this idea of indipendence, of not being a slave to how I feel about her, but the truth is… I don't like it. I love her, and it's all I feel right now. Right or wrong, what can I do? I love her, I'm hers forever, however we might end up. Together, or… apart. I love her, and there's nothing to be done. Not a thing I can do but try to win her back and apologize for everything I've done to her, for everything I've done to us. Be with her now, tomorrow, and hopefully all my life.

It started to rain a couple of minutes ago and I didn't even realize it. My jacket is doing nothing to protect me so my clothes are soaked as I step to the front of Dianna's flat, ready to call her entrance phone.

My heart is racing. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. I can feel it raging against my ribcage. Heart, please be patient. Please don't ditch me right now. I need you to be strong.

I point my forefinger directly onto the buzzer, and for a few minutes I ponder over what I am about to do.

_Great style. Remember. You'd better fix it for good, and in great style_.

I press the buzzer, pulling my hand back quickly.

I run my fingers through my damp hair, and I hold my breath when a voice replies crackling from the entrance phone.

"Who is it?"

"It's- It's Lea, Di. I'm Lea."

Silence. Tumble weed. Crickets. Rain tapping against the pavement. A random thunder in the distance.

I don't know if it's the far rumble or if it's the fact that I'm at her door waiting for an answer, but she suddenly asks: "What are you doing here?"

"C-Can we talk face-to-face? I really need to talk to you," I say, propping myself against the wall beside the entrance phone. I'm on my tiptoes so that I can speak into the entrance phone. Entrance phones were clearly not designed for short people. Don't they want short people to visit their friends?

And maybe it's the despondency in my voice, or maybe it's the fact that it's pelting down, but she decides to unlock the main door with a brief buzz.

I run through the main door, up the stairs, and to her apartment. I find her standing in the doorway, looking equally enraged and worried.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry… Did I interrupt anything?"

Dianna just raises her eyebrow at that, an old habit of hers that makes me feel warm all over.

She talks calmly.

"No. What I meant was, it's nearly midnight… and it's pouring down-"

"I told you, I need to talk to you."

Dianna studies me for a moment, then breathes out, "Come in."

We both settle on the couch, and I notice how little memory I have of this place. Even after she moved out, whenever things would get bad between us we would find refuge in our old apartment, where I live now, to find that old feeling of carefreeness and freedom.

I stare at her for a second. Then I give an involuntary shudder, and she looks startled from whatever she was thinking about.

"Lea, I'm sorry. You must be freezing. Let me give you some dry clothes," she walks to her bedroom, and I follow her.

She hands me a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, I take them and we stand one before the other for a while, staring at each other in an awkward silence, before she looks startled again, widens her eyes and blurts out, "Yeah, yeah of course, I'm sorry. I'll let you change in here. I'll be- I'll just go- I'm… Yeah," as she hurries out of the bedroom.

* * *

><p>Drat.<p>

I'm so confused.

Somehow, all I want to do right now is strangle her with all of my strength, and then kiss her until she passes out. So I just walk out of my bedroom before I do something inconsiderate.

Before I can even work any clarity out of the anarchy that is temporarily settled into my head, she walks out of my bedroom shaking her head around as to dry her hair a little, like a puppy.

She looks so cute it breaks my heart and it makes me want to crawl into a corner of my living room and wait there until I'm no longer in love with her.

"Listen, Di… I need to tell you something."

I inhale that portion of air she knocked out of my lungs.

"Alright. Let's sit down," and so we do. On my living room couch.

"I… I broke up with Theo. Yesterday night."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

I don't understand her.

"Why?"

"We're just friends. I've never felt anything for him but faint affection. I'm not… in love with him. I'll never be," she stretches her lips in a sad smile, looking down at the space between us.

"You came here to tell me you broke up with Theo?"

"No, I'm… I came to say that… I'm sorry. For everything."

She looks frustrated, as if what she said wasn't exactly what she meant, then she speaks again, and looks at me in the eyes.

"I haven't been acting like myself lately and… Listen. What I'm trying to tell you is important, and hard to say."

* * *

><p>The most important things, the hardest to say, are the things you get ashamed of because words will diminish your feelings. Words will shrink things that seem timeless when they are in your head to no more than living size when they get out of your mouth.<p>

Jon's words then echo in my mind.

_Don't sit around. Go scream it, because that's what you should do if you love someone. Talk to her in meaningful ways because that is beautiful and that is what loving someone is. It's raw and it's unguarded, and that is all that's worth anything, really._

"I'm sorry, Di. I'm truly sorry for everything I've done to you, to us."

I finger the hem of the hoodie's right sleeve.

"I broke up with you because I was terrified that someday I would do something irreparable that would devastate us-"

She suddenly scrunches up her whole face.

"Lea, you know what? You did exactly that. You did something irreparable that devastated us."

"I- I- I was terrified! I was scared, and we didn't have that feeling of freedom and carefreeness anymore because of all the arguments with the people who surrounded us-"

"Yes, you were terrified, exactly. You were scared, so you just took the closest exit and you ran away. The people around us didn't matter to me. All that mattered to me was what we had together."

"I wanted better things for you! I could never be the proud girl who could walk arm in arm with you in public. I felt like I would never be enough, and it broke my heart."

"Well, you broke mine," she looks away with teary eyes, then stands up and walks angrily around, directed nowhere in particular. Then she sighs, and says, calmly but falteringly, "You already were enough. I wasn't asking for anything more. Just you and me, together."

A single tear comes out of my right eye. Why is it always the right?

"It's always been all inside your head. All those doubts, that senseless feeling of not being enough for me, all that insecurity… I didn't even know they were there. You didn't share them with me, you didn't tell: all of those conversation were vague. I had a hazy picture of how you felt. And yet, I did nothing but reassure you, in any way I could, and I thought it was going to be okay. I was sure of what we had. Until I felt you slipping away from my certainty, and it broke me. It completely broke me, Lea."

I rub the tear away with my sleeve. She leans against the shelves of her living room, filled to capacity with books and sheets of paper. Her dancer's frame is sharply defined against the yellow lamp light that dilmy brightens up the room. I see the same face I see almost every day. That same face. Her ethereal bone structure. So much that even her bare skull would be attractive. That same flutter in her long, dark eyelashes. Her hazel eyes shining in the darkness. They're almost yellow now. Her cheekbones looking like they've been chiseled out of marble. That small imperfection on her nose. Her pouty Grace Kelly lips. That jawline. That same face. How strange is it that in the never-still current of life, love mysteriously endures?

* * *

><p>I hear her walking towards me, we lock eyes and suddenly her hand is on my cheek, barely brushing it.<p>

"I know I've been stupid, and selfish, and I was so obtusely afraid… I'm so sorry, Di… So, so, so sorry…"

She starts crying. Quietly, simply, and without letting one single muscle of her face move. She cries in her own particular way, and it's beautiful, the secret of a few. When I cry, I contort my face and grimace. She cries only with her eyes, like glasses filled to the brim with sadness, impassive until that first single tear wins over them and trickles down the edges, followed by many others, and impassive she stands there as her minute defeat finally drips down her cheeks.

I flinch, my heart picks up pace and suddenly I need more oxygen. Can you feel my heart thumping, Lea? Do you know what that means?

I can't move. I can't breathe, and I silently damn myself for still being so hung up on her. She still has that hold on me.

I may not be holding on as tightly as I had been, but my hand is still nowhere near opening and letting her fall out of it. It seems since holding on is only causing me pain, and heartache, that I would want nothing more than to let go… Right? This is what any reasonable human being would do.

Oh, what am I even talking about. We're human beings, we're definitely not reasonable.

She's so close I can smell her perfume – floral, with touches of lemon tart and hints of vanilla, and sparkly, just like her – and I feel suddenly dizzy.

I'm still so in love with this girl I fear I might go insane.

"Stop," I hear myself saying, "don't touch me."

She jerks back, and whispers, "Sorry, I'm… Sorry. I just… nevermind."

She edges away from me.

"I'm sorry, I… just… It's just that I'm still… I can't handle physical proximity with you right now. I need some… sanity in my life."

She smiles sadly at me.

"I'm heartbroken, Di. I am. I've been all this time. I just didn't say anything. And- I know it's stupid, because us breaking up was all my fault, but still… I can't help feeling this every single day. Because I hate myself for doing this to you, and to us."

We look at each other for a moment, and I listen to the quiet tranquility that has settled outside. After hours, it has finally stopped pouring.

"So what did you come here for? What do you need from me, Lea?"

"You don't trust me, do you?"

That dejected smile again, eyes fixated to the ground, and then they track back up to lock with mine.

"I… Why?"

"The thing is, I-"

Her voice cracks. Her eyes shift quickly between me and the shelves behind me. I know what she's looking at: there I put a picture of us with my cousin Jackson from my birthday of last year we spent with my family. She looks like she's pondering over something, then she quietly looks at me. Those teary eyes that were always the size of planets.

"-I hate myself. And all I want is to fix it all," she sniffs with a sad smile, "but I understand that it can't be done."

I don't know what to feel.

I love her, and I hate her. I hate myself for loving her and I love myself for hating her. Luckily, that self-preservation instinct is still there, somewhere in me.

She looks down at the space between us.

"I understand that. I hurt you and- and it's not like I can just put a patch on it. And maybe it's not our time…"

* * *

><p>I've hurt her. And I've hurt her too much. As I stare at our framed picture with Jackson on one of her bookshelves I actually see what we had. I see it grinning and laughing at me, and I feel suddenly empty, because all I had is sitting on those shelves, in the clothes I'm wearing, or on the pillow case of my bed I never wanted to wash because it smelled like her. It still does. Who cares if it's hygienically not safe. That pillow case feels safe enough to me.<p>

But hey, not everyone has that certainty and self-possession Dianna was blessed with. I'm passionate and impetuous, and maybe a little unwise, so I acted out of fear.

"You've always had so much clarity in your head. I'm… foolhardy. I'm like a child. I act out of temporary passions and feelings, and fear had the best of me in that moment. I was stupid, I was careless, and I didn't trust my heart. I'm not a brave soul like you are. It takes strength to trust your intuition."

She looks down at her shoes. Her tomboy knees, those scarred knuckles and long fingers remind me of many nights I lost myself in. Her outfit - a blue t-shirt, black shorts and her black Converse – reminds me of Somebody To Love, which used to be the song we playfully sang in the car, and it was also the song we used to perform on stage during last year's tour.

"You know, like that first time I made the move to hold your hand during Somebody To Love for the first time! I love the song – we both do -, and I felt happy because we were in New York performing at FOX Upfronts, and because you were there with me. So when the line "Find me somebody to love" came up, I thought, I have that. I have somebody to love and that somebody is right beside me so I looked at you and I took your hand. Because it felt right. I'm extremely impulsive, and I'm working on it. I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused you and I'm working on being more reflective and less impetuous, but the thing is, I still want to sing Somebody To Love with you in the car, and I still want to hold your hand during that performance on stage and during any performance, actually. I want to feel that zing of electricity I got when our fingers interlaced because I knew I had you, and when I felt the lines of the palm of your hand intertwining with mine, my life tethered to yours… I still want all of that," I take a deep breath, because here I go again being passionate and blurting out everything, "…That's what I came to tell you."

There's a sudden silence after that. One of those hair-raising silences that in horror movies precedes a bolt from the blue.

I look at her, trying to work out what she's thinking behind those hazel eyes. Even now, standing completely still in the dim light of her living room, in black shorts and Converse, she's unintentionally graceful, like a deer in the woods moving very slowly – elegant, and warm. But even now, as always, there's a clandestine quality about her, as though she's not showing you all the cards. And she's not, because she learned that at a young age. She's one of those beautiful and intriguing people who can choose whether to let you see what is going on inside her head or not. Those beautiful people are those who have known defeat, suffering, struggle, loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These people have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen, I'm telling you.

Then she moves her eyes to stare at me for a second.

"I'm trying so hard not to let you in again, because right now, I don't trust my heart to be the judge for this. I can't find any peace until I'll get over what happened between us. I need to smile again, I need to be happy in order to forgive you and the circumstances that led you to that. I need to move on," and with that, she seizes a forgotten glass of red wine and sips.

I breathe, "I- I understand that. I'm sorry. God, it looks like I won't be able to stop saying sorry, doesn't it? I'm sorry and- oh, here I go again. I'll go now. Can I take your clothes? Mine are still drenched and-"

"Take those. You'll give them back to me when we meet on the Paramount lot tomorrow."

"Alright. Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow then?"

I move to hug her but I jerk back as soon as she flinches, and that reminds me of what she said earlier. So I step back, I nod to her, and I walk out.

* * *

><p>I stand by what I said. I need to heal myself, I need to find that "joie de vivre" again. I need to be with my friends and family, and to forgive her. And right now, a few nice words won't be enough.<p>

I put the glass of wine down on the kitchen counter, and when I walk inside my bedroom, I sigh. She forgot her own clothes here.

I kick my shoes off, and I lie down on my bed, shutting all the lights off. I hold Lea's clothes in my arms, carefully, almost afraid to break them as if they were a tiny bird with fragile wings and bones.

As I think about what she said and about that first time I felt her hand sliding into mine and saw her grinning at me on a stage in front of millions, I smell her scent on her clothes.

The poem of the day will definitely be one by my paperback confidant, my dear Charles.

_There's a bluebird in my heart that  
>wants to get out<br>but I'm too tough for him,  
>I say, stay in there, I'm not going<br>to let anybody see  
>you.<em>

_There's a bluebird in my heart that_  
><em>wants to get out<em>  
><em>but I pour whiskey on him and inhale<em>  
><em>cigarette smoke<em>  
><em>and the whores and the bartenders<em>  
><em>and the grocery clerks<em>  
><em>never know that<em>  
><em>he's<em>  
><em>in there.<em>

_There's a bluebird in my heart that  
>wants to get out<br>but I'm too tough for him,  
>I say,<br>stay down, do you want to mess  
>me up?<br>you want to screw up the  
>works?<br>you want to blow my book sales in  
>Europe?<em>

_There's a bluebird in my heart that_  
><em>wants to get out<em>  
><em>but I'm too clever, I only let him out<em>  
><em>at night sometimes<em>  
><em>when everybody's asleep.<em>

_I say, I know that you're there,_  
><em>so don't be<em>  
><em>sad.<em>  
><em>then I put him back,<em>  
><em>but he's singing a little<em>  
><em>in there, I haven't quite let him<em>  
><em>die<em>  
><em>and we sleep together like<br>__that  
><em>_with our  
><em>_secret pact_

_and it's nice enough to  
>make a man<br>weep, but I don't  
>weep, do you?<em>

I do weep, Charles, I do. I weep on Lea's clothes so they get damp again. They smell of rain, of her, and of me now.

It's been a long day. It's been a long week. It's been a long couple of months. I'm finally feeling like it's okay to break into a thousand pieces, and to finally heal.

I'm not bitter, I'm just sad. It's a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time.


	22. When you're smilin'

**I would like to remind everyone reading this story that this is fiction and my imagination working on existing people. I don't claim to know anything about the people portrayed in this story, so take them as fictional ones.**

**This chapter is not a filler, but it's a bit short. I hope you like it anyways.**

**So… Yeah, review as always because you always spur me to write further with those, and just keep being awesome as ever **

**Chapter 22 – When You're Smilin'**

_- When you're smilin', when you're smilin', the whole world smiles with you. And when you're laughin', when you're laughin', the sun comes shinin' through. -_

This is exactly what I needed.

I'm sat on my old couch together with my mom and Jason, watching a re-run of Ghost Adventures, back in San Fran.

The quietness and tranquility in the air, the familiar smell of oranges, the sound of wind gusting through the trees, my mom getting distracted every ten seconds because something in the house is just not in perfect symmetry – napkins on the table, towels in the bathroom, books in my old bedroom – or because she just remembered something she needs to tell us, my brother and I smiling quietly about it.

The constant buzz there is in Los Angeles sometimes makes you forget what really is important. It forces you to focus on the tall cup of coffee you'll need to get through your day, and about the yoga that you'll be desperate for later because of all the caffeine that is running in your system, or you find yourself franctically worrying about how late you are for work, or about deadlines and times and bills and phonecalls.

We luckily all got a week off work because we just finished shooting the last episode of Season 1. What a journey it was. Apparently they're considering a cast tour around the States. I'm such a lucky duck.

"This program is spine-chilling. Ah! Remember when I told you how a couple of teenagers robbed me outside the cemetery some weeks ago? Robbing just outside cemeteries… People are just ruthless nowadays. Anyway, they caught them. I got my cell phone back."

I smile at my mom's old fashioned sense of decency, and I drop my head back on the couch, squinting my eyes in the effort of observing that brief moment when the last sunshine falls with warm affection on my mom's glowing face, and then the sun disappears, somewhere behind the thick strings of trees and neighborhood houses.

Time seems to go by so slowly here, I can actually feel it as it flutters through the leaves and the grass and the wind. I can appreciate it. I can cherish it.

When I was eighteen, I packed the used Durango I'd bought with money earned from a job at a boutique called Morning Glory, and drove down to L.A. to live there. I left this little town in the outskirts of San Francisco, and I moved to L.A. Now my life is great. I have a job that provides me of a good income, I get to act and sing and dance as a living, I have good friends who support me… And yet, when I come back here, when I see my first shy steps taken into the mud of my backyard as I was learning how to dance… I feel like I should have never left. This is my home.

Mom washes the dishes after dinner, and it reminds me of when I was younger and I couldn't reach the sink. She puts some Louis Armstrong CD in the record player – she loves that kind of Dixieland-jazzy music, especially when she does the dishes. "When You're Smiling" comes on, and Jason takes my mom by her rubber gloves-clad hands and starts dancing. It's silly and not particularly elegant, the way Jason tries to swing and turn mom around and how mom tries not to stumble over her own feet, but the grins on their faces are graceful, and simple. I watch them from the kitchen doorway, and I smile, and I laugh. It comes rumbling up so unexpectedly that I tip my head back quickly, as if this lightheartedness came gushing out of my mouth and I don't want to spill it all on my shirt or worse, on the floor.

Jason has been the man in the house, all these years. He grew up so much. He has broad shoulders now, an athlete's body. But I still see the 13 year old boy in him. He still has that wide, bright grin and that slight imperfection on the bridge of his nose, and those full lips with creases at their corners– I see a little bit of myself in his face, and this thought always makes me smile. Big bear. I used to call him Big Bear when we were younger, because he liked feeling like he was the older brother even though he wasn't, and I liked the old, squishy, familiar way it sounded.

"It's midnight. Time for good kids to go to bed," my mom says after hours of dancing and washing and tv watching, flopping on the couch, apparently finding the time on the ceiling.

"But mom-"

"No buts. You get your sweet butts up the stairs and go to sleep. You exhausted me," she sighs dramatically, bringing the back of her hand to her forehead and closing her eyes. Jason just mumbles a goodnight and trudges up the stairs, yawning. I flop on the couch beside mom.

"Just you wait for tomorrow. We'll play dress-up, and Jason will be the lion tamer, and I'll be the trapeze artist-"

"Oh Gosh, not the circus again."

She smiles sweetly at me.

"It's strange seeing you around the house again. Sometimes I look at you, and I still see the 7 year old girl in a tutu with puffed sleeves on the floor right in front of this couch, trying to tie the lace of her ballet shoes, sticking her tongue out and scrunching her forehead."

I snort, because I perfectly remember how incredibly hard it was to tie my ballet shoes for the first times. I remember I sat there for hours, trying to figure out how to cross and fasten the lace around my ankle. It never looked quite right.

"You know, you probably don't remember this but, when you were five and Jason was three, one night you both came crawling up my bed. Dad was traveling for work to other cities – Atlanta, perhaps – and I was trying to sleep, but the bed felt too cold and there was a storm outside that kept me awake. But then you two little sneaky creatures came crawling up my bed. You said the thunders scared you, of course, and you also said you wanted peanut-butter & jelly sandwiches."

"Random."

"Oh, children are always random. So I thought, why not? It's three in the morning, we can't sleep, so let's just have a peanut-butter & jelly picnic. So we were sitting on my bed, eating sandwiches and listening to the thunders outside, and then at one point, you said: 'When I grow up, I want someone I can make peanut-butter & jelly sandwiches for, so they can feel nice and forget about the thunders.' I think my heart suffered a small explosion in that moment. Do you remember that?"

"Not at all. I do remember sitting on your bed and Jason stuffing his mouth with his hand smeared with peanut-butter & jelly right off the jar though."

There's a silence then. She looks into my eyes, and smiles. As always, our best conversations are held through silences. Deep, meaningful silences that fill your heart and your ears with all you'd like to hear or say.

"I want you to be happy. This morning, when you got here, you didn't look happy. And now you do."

"Well, it just… takes some time and some rest."

"And some peanut-butter sandwiches."

"And some peanut-butter sandwiches," I laugh briefly, and then, "Can we go to dad's tomorrow?"

"Sure."

I wake up in the morning and she's not the first thing I think about. And the first thing I do is not feel that sort of chest pain that gets to your head. All I think about is orange trees, because I can breathe their scent, and it feels safe. And finally like home.

We go to dad's and it's like going to therapy, yoga or whatever nowadays people find relief, and themselves, in.

And it's a bit like when I was 8, and I had just started doing ballet, and everything that moved reminded me of dance. (It was a weird obsession, now that I think about it. Who dies to do ballet at that young age? I guess I just really liked the tutus). I was 8 years old, and my dad brought me to see the ocean. We lived in San Francisco, so we saw the sea everyday, but he wanted me to see the ocean. Unconfined, interminable ocean. We drove up to Point Reyes Beach. It was a cloudy day. He let me dip my feet in the cold sand, walked up to the bankside and pointed out where the water would leave its wet impression behind and then withdrew. He pointed, and said, "Do you see that point where the water reaches out on the sand? There, it stops, it only lasts for a moment, right there. Do you see it?", and I said "Yeah."

And he said "Well, this is one of the greatest things you'll ever see in your whole life."

And I remember his tone while he said it, a solemn baritone. His face a grave and mysterious inscription.

I remember thinking, in my whole life? It seemed such an impenetrable concept to grasp, my _whole_ life. How do you know that I'm not going to see something way bigger than this? I mean, it's just the ocean. It's there.

So I said, But dad, it's just the ocean.

I remember feeling small and silly as soon as I said it.

"That's not the ocean, little one."

Then he stooped down to face me directly, as he would often do when he got all serious-business-y. And he whispered something in my ear, sheltering the secret with his hand so it would not flutter away in the spring wind.

"That's where the ocean _ends_," he whispered, and I felt immediately like I had been told confidential matter, private affair, like this particular piece of information was passed from father to children, along the generations.

And I think I understood so little of what he was saying back then. I remember feeling so powerful, and yet completely inadequate and frail. There stood – well, it swayed – the end of the ocean, and I was simply staring at it.

What he really meant was, the endless ocean ends right there. Right there are your feet, and you can look at it. The boundless ocean, unlimited, that travels away and above every glance. It eludes you. But there's a place, or rather a moment in time, where the ocean just ends. Quietly. On a very small patch of sand and in a fleeting instant, at your feet, and you can even touch it. You can be weak and frail and you might have lost confidence, but the ocean, right now, is ending at your feet. That, he meant.

In my younger and ingenuous years my dad gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. "Whenever you feel like the world is too big and the possibilities are too endless and you feel small and weak, remember that you'll still like watching people dancing, and that you'll still like hugging your teddy bear and jumping on the trampoline. Those are small things, but also the most important ones. Got it, little one?"

I remember saying "Yes, daddy," because everything that came from his mouth had this arcane, enigmatic feeling about it, so much that I felt like the keeper of big secrets.

He didn't say much, but we've always been communicative in a reserved way and I always understood that he meant a great deal more than that.

And he did, and I understand it fully only now.

I guess that's why you come to appreciate your parents only after you've grown up and started thinking with your mind. You can appreciate and love them for all they've taught you, intentionally or not, with words or with a glance or a decision. It roots inside you, and you let it grow along with your body and your breasts and your hair and your bone structure, until you stop, and that reminder is still there, and you don't think about everything that's been changing in you anymore, but you start thinking about who you are instead and what's always been inside of you all along.

So I watch my dad flipping a burger and vegetables on his grill, _Born To Run_ playing from his car's stereo, reminding me of when I sat on his lap in the car and he allowed me to pick a CD for the trip before those long car rides that would take us from Savannah to San Antonio and then from San Antonio to San Francisco, moving in and out of cities and places and memories and schools and friends.

"_Oh, baby, this town rips the bones from your back […]We gotta get out while we're young,'Cause tramps like us, Baby, we were born to run"_

We eat and smile and we drink some cheap Pinot Grigio. And my dad says, laughing, "When you were born, you didn't cry. You just kept looking around you, with those big eyes, and trying to figure out who the heck were all those people who had come to see you at the hospital. And what the heck was this world you had suddenly materialized onto. And when your brother was born you stared at him for hours to try and understand quite what he was, and what his existance meant for you. Still, when you got home, you put all of the stuffed animals you owned in his crib. To make him feel welcome, I guess."

Jason ruffles my hair.

And even though we've all heard that story so many times, and even though he always uses the same words to tell, we still laugh, and I still feel at home. And finally putting pieces together, gluing my soul, caressing the scratches and being pulled together by something _else_. And it's still love, just a different kind.

* * *

><p>"Heather, I need you."<p>

"Woah."

"I meant, I need _something that you have_."

She looks suddenly worried for me.

"Wow, Lea, you got no game at all. We need to work on that-"

"What- No. No no no. That was not what I meant."

"Oh."

"Right. I need Dianna's apartment keys."

I'm at Heather's apartment doorway. Heather has a spare set of keys to Dianna's apartment because she's the one who lives closest to her. Dianna has always had this fear of getting locked out of her own house. Probably that has to do something with the fact that, when she was 13 and playing around with her brother in the hotel hallway just outside her room, she realized she had left her card key inside, and had to ask the concierge a spare. Knowing Dianna, I can almost see the look of shame on her teenage face and her awareness of being a nuisance.

"You're scaring me right now."

"Why?"

"What are you going to do with those?"

"Bake some really nice cookies and then- What do you think I'm going to do with keys?"

"Ok, so you want to get in Dianna's apartment, but why is that?"

Heather's face is scrunched up, and she looks suspicious.

"I want to surprise Dianna."

"Lea, I love you and all, but I don't think that's a good idea. She'll open up the door and she'll see you standing there and she'll freak out and I really don't want to watch Amèlie at her apartment again and I don't want to lend her my pajama pants and then she'll cry and I'll sleep in my underwear and Naya-"

"No, Heather, that's not- What?", I just decide to wave it away because I have far more important matter on my mind right now, "No. It will be an anonymous surprise. She won't know it was me who did it. It will make her feel nicely confused and she will smile about it, because that's exactly the kind of thing she would smile about. Remember the movie Amèlie?"

"Yeah. God knows I do."

"Yeah well, remember that part when Amèlie gets in the grocer's apartment, and she does all of those imperceptible changes to his apartment so that he's confused, but he doesn't know quite what is wrong, and it drives him crazy?"

"Yeah."

"That's what I'm going to do! But the changes will be good, and she will see them when she gets back from San Francisco, and she won't know it was my making."

She looks positively scared because I have wide eyes and I probably look like I've just had Mary Jane, but this is important to me. I want to see Dianna smile again.

"Please, Heather, I really just want to see Dianna smile."

"A'right."

She disappears for a couple of minutes, and comes back wearing a furry hat – God knows why -, brandishing Dianna's apartment keys.

"I don't want to have anything to do with this. I'm not taking sides," and with that, she grins, wiggles her eyebrows at me, waves bye and closes her door.

I look down at the keys in my hands, and I see Heather's handwriting on the tag attached to them: "My name".

I stare at that for a good five minutes, trying to understand what that means.

Then I realize. Dianna, knowing how forgetful Heather can be, probably told her: "Write my name on the tag". And obviously, Heather did. I can almost see her, laughing as Dianna reads the tag.

I love this girl.

I'll never fully understand her, but I love her.

I dial the number of the most creative person I know besides Dianna to help me out in this.

"Hello Chris."

"Our fearless gangster."

"Stop calling me that. Just because I'm from the Bronx-"

"That had less to do with you being from the Bronx and more to do with you being bossy and overwhelming."

"So I can command you to help me with something, right?"

"…Am I in for trouble?"

"Nope. You'll love this."

And he does.

And he helps me set up everything, telling me about European History and British Royal lineage and also about that night – "I had to improvise a tale to make her feel better after what you did. Do you understand? A tale. It involved a duck named Flappy, and we were all animals, and God knows how I came up with that," – but he's funny, and generally lighthearted, and he has some wonderful ideas. As we're there we also call some other people – Naya, Kevin, Cory, Mark, Amber, Jenna – to pick up some things for us.

Hours later, as we admire our finished work, we turn the lights off, shut the door, and clap excitedly. As some would put it, 'dis gon be good'.

* * *

><p><strong>The lyrics at the beginning of Dianna's point of view are from When You're Smiling by Louis Armstrong.<strong>

**The movie mentioned is Amélie, a wonderful French piece of art I've already brought up in this story. If you haven't seen it, do (you can find the whole movie on Youtube with English subtitles). It's incredible, and very much Dianna-like, which is why I like to think Dianna would love it.**

**To write the memory of Dianna's dad taking her to see the ocean I was inspired by a wonderful Italian book (which has been translated in many languages), called "Oceano Mare" (you can find it in English, "Ocean Sea"), by Alessandro Baricco. **


	23. Three Deaths

**Hello kids! I am profoundly sorry for not updating this fanfiction for so long – I hate it too when others do that but it was hard for me to find inspiration in these months. So many things happened, but I'm back on my feet.**

**I hope you still want to read this, stay with me!**

**P.S. You will probably recognize a reference to a song in the last paragraph ;)**

**Chapter 23 – Three deaths**

_March 2009_

I know Dianna.

I know what you're thinking, of course you know Dianna.

But I know Dianna like her childhood best friend does. Maybe better. I know her like the Monet poster she always brought with her along her quick moving out and moving in and moving out back again, through different hotel rooms and different schools and friends and lives. I know her exactly as this poster does. I've seen her dancing across a room with unexpected grace or with unexpected goofiness, and I've seen her soak a pillow she normally wouldn't use with uncontrolled tears shed at night.

I know what she needs. I could walk into a new city and tell you what Dianna would visit first, or read a new restaurant's menu and tell you what Dianna would order and why.

Maybe it's because we lived together for seven months, sharing every bit of ourselves, or maybe it's because I've always felt this deep connection with her. Not because we're similar, we're actually quite the opposites. Exactly because we're opposites, and because she's always told me everything about her, and her childhood, and her parents, and the familiar smells of her old life in Burlingame – orange trees, barbeques, freshly cut grass, rain, her father's Range Rover which smelled of 'old memories and boring car games and highway snacks' – and anything that makes her _her_.

So when she told me she needed time, a couple of weeks ago, I understood it. And I'm still nowhere near letting her go, not because I'm selfish and I want her forever – well, kind of -, but because I know her, and when I walked out of her bedroom that night wearing her clothes, I could see that old watery loving look in her eyes. No matter what she did to hide it afterwards – sipping wine, not locking eyes with me, flinching away from me – I saw it, and I recognized it.

I can't be with her right now, but I do want to see her happy. So I set up this pandemonium in her apartment because I could and because I wanted to and because it's exactly the thing I know Dianna gets excited about.

And sometimes, living whimsically is so refreshing. Dianna taught me that. I take myself way too seriously all the time, I end up having to meet my own expectations for myself. I love acing at what I do, I love being good at my job; but sometimes, I like not to celebrate it that much. I like to take a break from myself.

Taking life lightly is good. It's not superficial: it's soaring above things from up above, it's not keeping burdens in your heart. And Dianna does it so effortlessly.

I want to see her glide upon life again with that head-turner smile of hers smacked obnoxiously on her face.

I'll move like a knife thrower, flinging blades around her body. I'll act like a poet, never actually mentioning the actual word or feeling, but writing around it. The precision resides in sidestepping. Aim to the border, coast along side it. A knife thrower touches from afar, the real mistake is reaching the target, the real grace is missing it.

So I'll aim around her, turning tiny lightbulbs on around her in the hope that I can indirectly bring some additional brightness in her life. Because to her, I'm first and foremost a friend.

I miss her, of course I do. And I do love her, incredibly so.

I loved her since our first date at that Breakfast at Tiffany's screening: she kept staring at me wide-eyed, like I was curing cancer right in that moment, and even though I felt a little bit like cheating because I had gotten the passes thanks to a friend and not through actual effort, I felt empowered by her eyes and the way they looked at me, and it felt all so real. Not real in that raw, unguarded way – not yet – but in that elegant, graceful way sometimes life happens.

And I loved her again on the phone, say three weeks later, when we were comparing each other to food. I said she'd be a peach, because she's sweet and juicy and interesting and also because she smells of peach, and she said I'd be one of those custard cream pastries with a strawberry on top, I asked 'Why', and she said 'Because I like it'.

And I loved her again that night we got bad news from her mom: his dad had had one of those cyclic crises. And she just leaned into me and started crying, her face scrunching up, salt pouring down on my shoulder, and I caressed her knees while sitting on our couch, and I held her, my arms tightening around her wavering chest that felt so much tinier than usual, her hands, weak, on my back. She looked like a child, a frightened fawn, incredibly frail and beautiful in its weakness.

I haven't spoken to her lately. We had our week off work and she should be back today and… I don't really feel like calling her. She said she needed time, I'll give her that.

A fucked up house, and some time too.

Gosh, sometimes I wonder how I even have friends.

* * *

><p>As soon as I walk into the house I can sense something is not right. This apartment might be relatively new – so much that I haven't had the chance to properly decorate it – but I sniff something in the air that's definitely not the smell of a house that's been closed and unlived-in for the last week. It somehow smells of fresh paint and cardboard.<p>

First thing I do is check the door for any sign of housebreaking, but I can't find any. I try to remember whom I gave the keys to my apartment to and- shit. Heather. Not like she'd ever do anything wrong, but that girl tends to misplace her trust.

The back of my door appears to be just as white as ever, with the exception of a small doodle around the peephole which looks a lot like an eye with very long eye-lashes. I… didn't draw this. I'm pretty certain I didn't. Was I ever that drunk to draw on my door and not remember about it?

I walk hurriedly to the kitchen to call Heather and ask her if she had fun in my apartment, but my attention is captured by the refrigerator that used to be metallic-grey and blandly boring and new-looking: it's now full of pictures. Of my friends, of my family, of the Glee crew, of random places I actually visited, of interesting-looking foods.

I stare at my own fridge, stunned, as I blindly dial Heather's home number on my phone.

"Hey, D! How are you? Are you back home? How was San Francisco? Too many questions?"

"Yes, I… Yes I am. Back home. I- I was wondering if you gave the keys to this apartment to anyone, or if you came here to have fun or… decorate the place or something, because-"

"Oh! Right, that! Well, my lips are sealed."

"What? But what- what if people have been here and-"

"You've got nothing to worry about. It's friends' making. Just take a walk around your apartment and see what's changed."

"I- what? Friends? I- I don't understand!"

"And people say I'm the weird one. Just take a walk around, it'll be fun! Just know that I gave the keys to a person we both trust. And love. So you've got nothing to worry about. Hop around and have fun. See you on Monday!"

"I… yeah. See you."

"'Kay, bye!"

Well, this is uncanny. All of my mugs are perfectly stacked, my teabags are somehow organized by both color and flavor, and all of the doodles I usually leave around the house are all taped on the buffet drawers.

I huff and drop my bags onto the floor, as I decide to 'hop around' the house.

A very funny-looking portrait of Salvador Dalì holding a cat was hung up in the hallway. My bedroom's window jamb is now purple, and my bed is covered in silver glitter. I try to brush it off, and I find a small note underneath, in what I'm pretty sure is Chris's handwriting – the manic neatness in it substantiating my theory.

"Bask in your shine. And no, this madness wasn't my idea. Although I do admit it was pretty fun to participate."

So Chris participated but wasn't the only person who decided to suddenly redecorate my apartment. I don't know whether to feel betrayed or elated. In the process of deciding, I skip to my bathroom.

The mirror is streaked by pink lipstick smudging the words "You look beautiful! No need for me!" across the previously clean surface.

The shower curtains are not the bland, boring white ones I owned. They're white, but covered with interesting words, like "abdicate" or "zealot", complete with definitions.

I decide to go downstairs because this is getting pretty fun.

Before I left, I'll admit my guest bathroom looked a bit… shabby and neglected. I wanted to redecorate it, paint the walls and buy some fun new furniture but between the shootings and the dance rehearsals and the quick move-in I just couldn't find the time.

But now it's… new. Definitely artistic, and somewhat metropolitan and edgy. Random phrases are hand-written on the walls, lyrics, doodles and words jumbling up across the rough texture of my still unpainted walls.

It suddenly evokes in me the unexpected feeling of strength, and love, and a fresh wave of happiness overwhelms me before I can really stop it – and why would I even want to stop it, anyway?

I breathe deeply, and immediately the old bathroom's air seems very much like fresh air. My heart is full, and I can feel it as it takes off from my chest, like a kite thrown by a child in the spring wind.

* * *

><p>"I know it was you"<p>

A mellow voice behind: Dianna. I could recognize that voice in my sleep. Slightly nasal, dry and so deep, her 's's always echoing in my head, that almost husky quality that still haunts me.

I've been standing around set for a long time, avoiding to look at her for quite a while, just like you do with the sun. But I feel her presence, just like you feel the warmth of the sun, without looking.

"It was- what?"

I turn around and… she's… oh. She's ethereal. I think I just died. What a way to go.

Time of death, 11:34 a.m. Lea Michele, found in the Paramount Lot this morning, she had just shot a scene for a brand new episode of the well known tv show Glee. Cause of death appears to be the astonishing beauty of a co-star, Dianna Agron, playing her frenemy on the above-mentioned show. Funerals will be held on Friday and rumor has it that Broadway extraordinaire, actress, singer, and philantrope Streisand will be attending.

She's in her clothes to shoot her scene with Jane Lynch. She's wearing a hairband, with her hair straightened, a red t-shirt hanging loose from her shoulders and a pair of black leggings. Oh holy leggings. And those eyes. Her lashes are curled and now she's even lifted her eyebrow, trying to tease me.

But I see her hands fidgeting, and her posture is tense.

"I know it was you who redecorated my apartment," she says, tilting her head to a side, her eyes still fixed on mine, randomly flickering from my right to my left, trying to look for something I might want to say but I'm not.

"I…"

"The stacked mugs, the teabags organized by color and flavor, my doodles all taped on the buffet drawers, the lipstick on my mirror, the phrases on the walls…"

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh and you left three Starbucks cups of coffee there."

"Oh."

"Yeah," she raises that goddamn eyebrow of hers, I hate her. Oh gosh, I hate her. To the moon and back.

But then she grins, and lets out a short laughter looking at her feet, and I die all over again.

Then she turns serious, and looks straight into my eyes,

"Is it clichè to tell you that I really loved what you all did?"

Jesus, is that you?

"Not at all. I'm so happy you liked it."

She sighs, "I did. Thank you for that."

She shuffles her feet for a second, then we hear Brad yelling "Cheerios audition scene! Shot 1! Be on set in 2 minutes!". We see Jane passing by us.

I grab Dianna's arm and drag her behind the set of stairs of the gym.

She looks flustered.

"Please hear me out. When I look at you… I see all the ways a soul can bruise. I see it all again, playing over and over in my head, and I'm so sorry for all I've done to you. I never know quite what to say when I see you upset and it tears me apart that I can't help you because I'm the reason you've been feeling like this, and the awareness that you're not happy all the time makes my heart ache. But just know that I'm here for you. I'm your friend, before anything else."

She frowns, but I keep going.

"But I know what to do now, and that's contributing to your happiness, even if I'm not a part of it. I want to only see light when I look at you. Lanterns, and… and… I had read this beautiful quote that talked about lighting up lanterns across your spine, but I can't remember it right now so-"

In the confusion of my rambling I suddenly feel her lips on mine. They are warm, and wet, and I can feel her pouting… But we've never kissed like this. The world was slowly sliding back into place. Our lives. Everything we had lost, done wrong, forgotten, was finally gaining a sense. With a single kiss. With this kiss.

Her hands grabbing the back of my neck and threading through my hair have an amount of desperation and anger in them, but all I feel towards her is softness, and lightness, whispers and warmth and tender hugs so I place my palms bare open on the sides of her face, holding her face like feathers, the ones of those birds who choose one another once in their lives and then never leave each other again.

Suddenly she takes a step back breaking the kiss, still angry, probably at herself, and whispers, "This doesn't… mean anything."

She looks at her feet, and as she walks by me, I whisper back, "I guess I'll just go back to missing you, then."

I feel hesitation into her next steps, but she walks away nonetheless. That's the third time I die today.

* * *

><p>I never wanted anything so much, than to breathe her love and not feel her rain. All she has to do is grab my arm and all my fragile strength is gone. She looks at me in the eyes and I have to glance down. She rambles about lanterns and I feel this deep urge to kiss her.<p>

I'm so screwed.


	24. Clarity

**Thank you for sticking with my story, readers! I hope you're still enjoying the ride. **

**My references for this chapter were Elly Belle's great poetry (her tumblr is mynameiselly), Atonement, and Finding Nemo. What a clash of worlds.**

_April 2010_

In _Atonement_, a book I will forever dog-ear and quote and love, Ian McEwan wrote something about the _clarity of passion_.

This young man, Robbie Turner, once made love with Cecilia Tallis in the library after a few days of inner turmoil. After being separated from Cecilia for years, he writes to her:

_I can become again the man who once crossed the surrey park at dusk, in my best suit, swaggering on the promise of life. The man who, with the clarity of passion, made love to you in the library. The story can resume. I will return. Find you, love you, marry you and live without shame. _

Blah blah blah he goes off to war.

I get him. I'm a Robbie Turner.

He makes love to her when he can finally see through the thick cloud of his confused feelings and pride and look at her with the _clarity of passion_. This idea is something that always drove me crazy. We are used to hearing about the idea of lust and desire as hazy and confused, but Robbie sees Cecilia with the clarity of passion, so much that they make love against a freaking library.

Sure, feelings can do great things, but it's passion, desire, lust that give us a clear definition of what and whom ultimately we want.

When I kissed Lea - it scared me. It scared me how fast I my lips ended on hers as she rambled about lanterns, my fingers threaded into her soft hairs on the back of her neck – the ones I used to stare at when we slept in the same bed and I woke up in the middle of the night, and I wanted to take a picture of them: I knew I'd call it Velvet. And it scared me how my fingertips scraped at her skin there because I was sure I was falling – I wasn't sure where, up, down, sideways – I was just sure I was _sliding_ out of something and into something else entirely.

I felt like I was taking a step in some direction, or better: a giant leap into the darkness. I couldn't feel the ground underneath my feet for what felt like hours but probably were seconds. Not being able to feel the earth beneath you but leaping regardless… It's not really courage: there is more security in the adventurous and exciting, because in movement there is life, and in change there is power. And to find her hands to catch me, my face, at the end of that long jump… _Kisses are a better fate than wisdom_. Edward Estlin, I must say you were right.

I called my mum late at night yesterday.

"Uh-Hello?"

"Mum?"

"D? What's wrong? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

My mum's voice suddenly picked up in pitch.

"Everything's okay, mum, I just wanted to talk to you, I know it's late and you sound tired but…"

"Nevermind, little girl, go on."

My body relaxed and I could almost feel her hand threading through my hair, my eyelids drooping.

"I just… Nothing really."

She sighed.

"You must be really tired, just… go back to sleep. Forget I called, okay? We'll talk tomorrow. It's nothing urgent."

"Darling, being a mum, I mastered the art of light sleep a long time ago. Talk to me."

"I think I made a mistake, but I'm not really sure. It doesn't feel like going back, but it also doesn't feel like moving forward."

I wasn't making much sense.

"That's what change is."

"Huh?"

"Change."

Silence. I turned off the light. I lay in bed. I was tired too.

"What do you mean?"

"…Are you sure you want to listen to my opinion?"

"Of course, mom."

"Well, you changed and Lea changed-"

"How do you know I was talking about Lea at all?!"

"Oh, for goodness' sake."

"Alright. Alright, point taken. It's just that… I was sure I could forget her. That somehow, the thought of her one day would just not be in the back of my mind."

"But that's not the case, it seems."

"It had worked for a while."

"Do you still think about her?"

"Kind of. Yeah."

She comes back to mind when I'm alone, or when I'm surrounded by people, unexpectedly. A shadow of her perfume, a wave of brown hair… I hallucinate her at the backs of other women, even though I know they're not her. And then the thought of her comes through my mind so violently it makes it hard for me to breathe.

She must detect some wistfulness in my voice, because she says: "Gosh, you're so young. I really really really want you to just feel that kind of late night happiness where you slowly drift asleep, feeling no weight on your shoulders."

I laugh and drawl, in a two-in-the-morning voice, "I'm light like a feather."

"But you're not. You're intense. You're important. If you really want that relationship, let her come to you, and set your own conditions. Be sure your heart is safe with her, and not dangling off a cliff like last time."

"My heart was never mine to keep."

"You know, you really should have been a writer. I've always told you."

"Writers are dispirited. Dancers are thoughtful, but carefree."

"I love you, go back to sleep now. You have that cheeky little voice you get when you're tired. And- that was a yawn. Good night."

"Night, mum."

* * *

><p>The sun is rising in this moment, in this spring morning, and the light is spreading with such positivity that even those unpretentious suburbs look taken aback, giving in for some form of beauty they were not built for. There is some optimistic glowing in the windows, and the little grass growing in the cracks of L.A. sidewalks shines of a surprising green. Cars going by are rare, and even they seem to have lost any sense of rush, like they're all going through an interlude.<p>

I walk to the set. The Glee tour just got confirmed yesterday. We're going on tour, live, across the nation. I couldn't be more excited.

I watch Dianna from afar as we practise our routines for the shows.

She walks with a dancer's bearing: she never sinks on her hips, she always settles on the last vertebra of her spine. She also often keeps her feet quite close one another, in her own pretty way, almost like a position of ballet.

She has her elegance in moving, but sometimes you'll catch her absentminded, like an actress who just stepped backstage, taking the heavy burden off her shoulders.

She catches my eye, my chest tightens, and I look away so it won't happen again. Everytime I look into her eyes, I know I'll always live inside those deep green lakes, and at night, where fantasy and reality blend together, I'll go back to them to love her again.

I'm the vulnerable one now. Vulnerable just like that time the words "I love you" fell out of my mouth while we were making love after an argument, and it felt like throwing rose petals on a battlefield, and I felt silly and weak but all she did was look at me and repeat those three words, putting emphasis on the second one, as if she had been the one to say them first.

Vulnerable like those times she set the alarm clock half an hour earlier than necessary, and we woke up in the same bed in the morning, our faces inches apart. I tried to go back to sleep everytime, asking for more time, and I didn't understand why she did that every morning. And all she did was look at me in the eyes. I'd close them, or move my face back because I couldn't focus and I was sleepy, but she'd take my face and say, "Stay here. Look at me," and I understood why she did it.

Watching each other horizontally – even then I managed to feel smaller than her - in that exact angle where her eyes shone a little bit brighter and she smiled so wide… It was something _else_. We stared at each other as our faces grew out of focus and all we saw was eyes, eyes, eyes and color. Hazel and often hints of yellow, random specks of forest green. You feel like you're someplace else, buried inside the endless pit that is the other person.

And by the time we got out of bed we had already kissed a million times, and if she hadn't set her alarm earlier all that time would've been wasted on sleep. Do that, if you have someone's eyes to get lost into. Try to let your world get out of focus until all you see is eyes, and color, and light, and set your alarm clocks earlier. Lose sleep.

While Zach, Ryan and Harry have a little chat about the mattress problem in Jump!, I watch Dianna again.

People have always been drawn to her. They walk up to her, excited and hopeful, ready to grasp at the words, the glances, the smiles Dianna offers them, sometimes accidentally, without even noticing, but always with a flawless aim.

She is a flirt. But when she flirts, she does it with a sort of fellowship and because she likes to tease. She offers a light pressure of her arm against her interlocutor's arm, or a joke, or a whispered bye: a warm and intelligent beam of her attention, an exclusive circle dazzle embracing everyone of them, a thousand watts.

She will look at people the way you want to be looked at: beaming, perceptive eyes, shifting their attention between your own eyes, your hair, your lips, your hands. She always wants to take it all in, she doesn't miss a thing.

She will look at everyone the way I'd like to be looked at. Dianna loves the whole world, and I am just a fading shadow of a part of it.

"Why the sad puppy eyes?" Chris asks, out of the blue.

"I don't know."

"You do know."

"I do know."

"Do I want to know?"

"I would probably bore you to death if I told you."

"I'll run the risk."

"I'm still in love with Dianna and I think I hurt her way too much to ever hope in a future us."

The sudden flow of words that somehow escaped my mouth surprises me.

Chris suddenly tilts his head to a side, stretching his lips in a sad, close-lipped smile. He puts a hand on my arm.

"You did hurt her, badly. But Dianna is a big woman. She survived. She's strong."

"I can't forget the look in her eyes when she left my apartment that awful day."

"Look at her now. Does she still have that look in her eyes?"

No, she doesn't.

"She has friends, and family, and passions."

I know that.

"So be brave, and take that goddammit step forward and do something great. Because I can't imagine Dianna's quirkiness with anybody else's quirkiness but yours. So go ahead. Courage. Live life like it was your last day on earth. Laugh, live, love. Dance like no one is watching. Carpe diem-"

"I- I get the picture. You're such a good friend."

"Now I'm bored. Go blah someone else," he smiles his close-lipped, droll smile, lifting his eyebrow, poking my shoulder playfully, and skipping away.

Dianna suddenly runs by me, and lands with a _hoof_ on a mattress. Then she starts rolling around playfully, like a puppy, but manages to kick Chris in his groin.

And Dianna starts laughing, breathing out sorrys.

She is nothing but clarity to me.

* * *

><p><em>23 May 2010, L.A.<em>

It's been a week since our first show of Glee Live! and it's all gone so well. Fans are fun, crowds are great, ovations are many.

Sometimes, shooting the episodes, focused as we are to make crazy storylines work, we forget how this show really has an impact on people.

We meet enthusiastic fans every day, thanking us for bringing to life such important themes. They tell us they watched the show with their parents and were able to talk to them about things that had never come up in a conversation before. And that has brought to a more deep knowledge of who they really are. And this is all so great.

We are such priviledged individuals. After a while, priviledge can become a habit, you don't even think about it anymore. But living in a very interactive, social era, we get to meet the people who watch us every week, and as we give them courage, they give us energy, and purpose.

We are backstage. We can hear the heavy buzz of the audience who's crowding up the theater. We are electricity, right now. We bounce here and there, asking how that line in that song ended because we can't remember right now, we look at ourselves in the mirror, grooming nervously and chattering about futile matters.

"Cory, you snored like an elicopter on the plane, can you please be quiet now? My migraine is taking a tour of my brain right now, and she's apparently having a rave."

"I shall call you Squishy. And you shall be mine, and you shall be my Squishy. Come on, little Squishy-"

Naya swats Cory over the head with a make-up case.

"Ow! Bad Squishy! Bad Squishy!"

"Sarfati! Guess who came tonight!" asks Kevin, dead serious, and looking slightly nervous, almost alarmed.

"I swear to God, if you pull a prank on me again like last week…"

"This is not- I'm serious here!"

Lea eyes him suspiciously.

"We are in L.A. for goodness' sake-"

"Yeah, and where does Barbra live?!"

"In Malibu, but-"

Lea widens her eyes comically, and for a moment I worry that they might just fall off her face and roll to her toes.

"Wh- what- have you actually seen her-?"

Kevin suddenly grins mischievously.

"MCHALE! I will murder you in your sleep! May it be the last thing I do in my life!"

Lea chases Kevin around the backstage, and they're just about to jump on scene before I grab the hem of Lea's red jacket and cause her to bounce back.

"All these years of pushing you around on your wheelchair and all I get are pranks?!"

Lea has wide frowning eyes, but she grins all of a sudden because Kevin manages to jump on stage, get a deranged scream by the audience, and then withdraw backstage.

"One day Artie will fall down the stairs along with his wheelchair, and it's gonna look like an incident," Lea says calmly when Kevin approaches again.

"Whatever. I'm pretty sure Ryan already has that shit written down for an episode anyway," and then he walks up to a sound man to get his microphone fixed.

Only then Lea realizes I'm fisting her jacket.

One would think we're uncomfortable around each other now, but we aren't. Not really. After waking up next to a person, and loving her for more than a year, the things you're uncomfortable doing with her are definitely countable on one hand.

One would think that there's bitterness that lingers. Hatred, even, or at least resentment. But those come from a dull love. When love is great, it leaves nothing but love to burn its ashes.

Pain and torment are deep-seated in letting someone else be the keeper of your vulnerability. Those feelings surge from passion, and courage. They're not necessarily negative, they're not inherently damaging even though it might seem so to people, even to myself. Pain comes from caring, and that's definitely a good thing.

But oh, what if pain and torment lead us to a deeper knowledge of ourselves? It has to be this way.

Being present, and aware of your possibilities and wishes is a must for a rewarding result. For general happiness, may we say.

Happiness is not always a hard thing to aspire to.

Here I am, letting go of Lea's jacket and flattening it out because now it's wrinkled. Amber is screeching and running away from Chris's hands, that for some reason are full of hairgel and trying to mess with her weave. Lea is smiling softly up to me – I've always liked the fact that she smiles _up_ to me. Kevin, Harry and Heather are teaching Naya some kind of twerk, while she just ends up doing her own peculiar dance move. Lea flattens out her jacket. Cory is trying to balance a drumstick on his upper lip but is having some trouble. Lea tugs gently on my arm. Mark is doing an impression of a chicken, chasing Jenna around as she tries to impersonate a cat. God knows why. Lea lets her hand glide over my arm down to my hand as she walks away.

I wonder why it's so easy for me to stick my heart into places that it doesn't belong. I wonder why I will never apologize for the way my eyes light up at the stupidest, littlest things – the way she looks _up_ at me, how me fisting her jacket reminds me of when I used to do that out of frustration, the way her eyes look particularly big and deep tonight, because maybe it's the darkness, or maybe it's just her. I wonder why something – someone – you like so much could ever make you anything but happy.

As I wonder, some man yells, "Lights down! Ready in 5!" and the theater goes dark, and the crowd starts to scream.


End file.
